


Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

by LeDiableGateaux



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Enemies to Friends, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, Freedom, Gen, Revenge, witches get stitches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25532824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeDiableGateaux/pseuds/LeDiableGateaux
Summary: No one can run forever. Sometimes, it takes being trapped to learn how to live free.And the monsters we meet along the way are never as they seem.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	1. The Late Arrival

The last bell had long sounded at the Royal Academy of Diavolo, but not all had the luxury of turning in quite yet.

Lucifer looked out across the row of chairs to where his brothers were seated. Satan with his nose in a book, Asmo posing with his phone, Beel staring into space and chewing on the end of his pen while a pool of drool formed on the table. It was hardly the noble demonstration of the Devildom that he’d hoped to present, but at least they were behaving. They were _quiet_. If Lucifer hadn’t known better, he would have been downright suspicious at this blatant lack of delinquency.

A pity the same could not be said for the man behind him. From his seat of prominence above the others, Lord Diavolo had spent the last hour slowly lowering into his slumped position, hunched forward over the table, head resting languidly on a curled fist. His spare hand drummed impatiently against the wood, and the sound pulled Lucifer’s attention from the stack of papers _he_ was using the time to work through.

Lucifer had known the prince long enough to know that forcing Diavolo into stillness for too long could be more dangerous than Beel skipping breakfast. The prince bore his impatience like a child - that was to say, not at all, and just as he let out a long, suffering sigh that Lucifer was certain was meant to draw his attention, the avatar of pride pulled a small section of papers from the rest, rose to his feet, and approached the seat of the chief judge.

“If you are looking for something to pass the time,” Lucifer began, setting the papers he held down on the table under the prince’s nose. “There are departmental budget proposals that require your signature.”

Diavolo took the pen that Lucifer proffered, but did little more than stare at it as he twirled it around his fingers.

“Here,” Lucifer continued, bringing one document in particular to attention. “The captain of the Fangol team has requested 30,000 Grimm in order to replace damaged equipment, in preparation for the new season. I’ve amended the request to grant a sum 15,000 instead. It should help instil a more responsible attitude towards the use of school equipment-”

“He’s been gone for too long.”

Lucifer halted, finally lifting his eyes to meet the prince’s. He realised then, in a moment of clarity, that he had misread Diavolo’s manner entirely. The prince was not bored - he was worried. His handsome face was marred by a knitted brow, his lips pressed together in a tight, tense line. It was so unsettling to see Diavolo this way; a disturbing _wrongness_ in the disquiet that pervaded his usually confident, jovial face, that there was a moment before Lucifer could form the appropriate response.

“Humans are unpredictable. Barbatos is perhaps having difficulty locating them.”

Diavolo gave a small, non-committal hum, and continued to roll Lucifer’s pen between his thumb and forefinger.

“I cannot think of anything in the human realm that could pose a significant threat.”

Though admittedly he was hardly known for his bedside manner, Lucifer did feel irked at the sole, languid sigh that his efforts earned in response. In truth, he hoped that Barbatos would return, and soon, if only because the servant knew how to handle Diavolo’s moods better than he did. Resigned, Lucifer was already turning away when Diavolo spoke again.

“It’s not only him I’m worried about.”

 _Ah._ Lucifer hung uncomfortably for a moment, wondering if he could reasonably let that be the end of their discussion and head back to his chair.

He was aware of Diavolo’s concerns. Lucifer shared them. Negotiations with the Celestial Realm had been difficult to approach and nigh impossible to navigate. Between the animosity that had existed between the two realms since the beginning of time, and a general lack of enthusiasm from any angels willing to spend a year in the Devildom, volunteers had been thin on the ground. Their saving grace had been the realm’s structure; that stifling autocracy that, despite his own personal feelings on the matter, Lucifer had exploited to the hilt - after all, when Michael said jump, the other angels asked ‘how high?’

The human realm lacked a similar hierarchy, and as such their means of finding human subjects - ah, _‘exchange students’_ , Lucifer corrected himself - left much to be desired. Finding their first had been simple enough. Solomon was no stranger to them, had prior contact with demons - pacts with them, even. He was a known factor, powerful enough not to need protection during the program, and _reasonably_ trustworthy. They were also aware of his willing disposition towards the exchange before they had a chance to formally extend their request.

Diavolo’s criteria for the second student however, had resulted in their employment of less courteous methods.

All in all, Lucifer could consider their tactic a polite kidnapping.

Diavolo did not worry when Lucifer voiced his concerns, but then Diavolo rarely worried. If the selected human proved utterly incompatible, they could drop them back into the human realm with a spell to fix their memory and pluck another from the stack. Repeat ad infinitum. Or at least, until their list of names ran dry. In Diavolo’s mind, it was this simple. But Diavolo’s mind, Lucifer knew from experience, was prone to flights of fancy that only the few truly privileged by power could afford. It did not help that between them, Lucifer and Barbatos had become so effective in cleaning up their master’s messes that the consequences of his bad decisions never had a chance to sink in. As a result, once Diavolo set his heart on something, there was little that could dissuade him.

The idea that Lucifer had a hand in encouraging this monster, sent a shiver through him that he hid behind a careful roll of his shoulders.

“I am certain it shalln’t be much longer.”

He hadn’t expected the platitude to placate him. As expected, Diavolo sank deeper into his slouch. Something in his deflated expression prompted Lucifer to ask:

“Shall I go? If there is trouble afoot-”

“You’ll make it worse, I’d wager,” said Diavolo, and the ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips. “Operations in the human realm require…” he hesitated, his hand drawing circles in the air as he searched for the right word.” “Finesse. You, Lucifer, unfortunately draw too much attention.”

It was not his words, but the implication behind his cocked eyebrow that had Lucifer look away. Millenia had not been time enough for him to fully adjust to the prince’s flattery.

_“Lucifer.”_

The third voice drew their attention. Their talk had managed to stir Beel from his trance-like state.

“I’m _hungry.”_

“Check inside your bag, Beel. I took the liberty of placing some snacks in there after lunch.”

“I know,” Beel replied, a forlorn and guilty look on his face. “I already ate them.”

The eldest brother pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a short, sharp exhale.

“Then I cannot help you. In future, learn to pace yourself and plan for unforeseen circumstances.”

Beel’s stomach answered for him. A loud rumbling that somehow managed to sound pathetic and angry at the same time echoed through the vacant hall. Lucifer had to clench his teeth when beside him, Diavolo chuckled.

“You can hardly blame Beel for all this,” said Satan, without looking up from his book. At the center of the assembly hall in which they sat, a circle of ancient carvings sat atop a raised stone dais. A portal for inter-realm travel. Satan waved a careless hand in its direction, indicating its current lack of activity.

"Let him go home,” he continued. “Or don’t. I’m sure he won’t try and _devour_ the human whole when it turns up.”

“Satan please, your input is neither useful nor wanted.”

The book snapped shut. “Then perhaps I shall go too, if I am so superfluous?”

At this, Asmo turned his attention from his phone and looked around hopefully at his eldest brother. His mouth opened, but before he could make his own plea, Lucifer shot it down.

“No one is to leave. It is unacceptable enough that of my five brothers, only three saw fit to attend this meeting. I will not brook any further-”

“Six,” said Beel quietly, as he rubbed his stomach.

“What?”

“Six brothers,” he said, as he slunk back down in his seat.

Lucifer felt an unwelcome swell of guilt at the look on Beel’s face. Images of their youngest brother flooded his mind. He forced them aside.

“I meant, of course, _of the five required to be here-”_

“Only we three were dumb enough to show up.”

“Satan!”

The flash of white that filled the hall was sudden and stark in contrast to the dim light their eyes had adjusted to. Lucifer raised an arm over his face, shielding himself against it as he felt blindly for his seat, the light fading as he sat down. Behind him, he heard Diavolo’s chair scrape back across the floor as the prince rose to his feet, eager to launch into his long-awaited speech.

It never came.

Barbatos stood on the raised dais, a human woman draped across his arms. The rest of the details came in a rush: the blood, a limp way she hung, the look of horror on the demon servant’s face.

“Barbatos!”

Diavolo was stunned, immobile, but Lucifer’s palms hit the table as he pushed himself up and over the bench, hitting the floor a moment later and hurrying over to the dais.

She was no burden to a demon’s strength, but the servant still seemed to sag under her weight.

“It was my fault,” he muttered, as Lucifer took the body from him without resistance. “I didn’t foresee-” Barbatos looked past the avatar of pride as he lay the human down on the floor, to his lord who now rushed to meet them.

“Barbatos,” said Diavolo, shocked but steady, the authority in his voice calling for calm. “What happened? Are you injured?”

It was more than a little unnerving to see the look of anguish on the imperturbable servant’s face, but Diavolo’s presence and tone of voice seemed to call Barbatos back to his sense of duty.  
“There was an accident. My lord, I should return - there was another. I don’t believe she’ll survive the transportation-”

“Go,” ordered Diavolo, and there was another flash of brilliant white light, after which the room turned to focus on the human laid across the floor. Lucifer had tugged off a glove, his fingertips pressed against the pulse point in her neck.

“Lucifer?” Diavolo whispered, barely daring to ask.

“She lives,” came the reply, though there was little relief in his voice. The prince stared down at the young woman’s face, red and swollen, and littered with cuts. He could see from where he stood the litter of glass shards embedded across her neck and chest, her long hair trailed with dirt and matted with blood. What had happened? How had Barbatos allowed this? And what had he said - it was _his_ fault? Diavolo shook his head, forcing questions that could wait for later from his mind.

The others were approaching now. Beel, though a hand still splayed across his stomach, seemed to have forgotten his hunger. Asmo frowned, sadly. Satan looked from the human to Lord Diavolo, who seemed to read his thoughts.

“Go all of you. Find Simeon. Bring him here at once.”

**One hour earlier.**

The woman who the world had come to know as Ash stood in the darkened alley, jacket pulled tight about her person, fighting hard not to shake from the cold.

She’d lost track of exactly how long she’d been waiting. Thirty minutes, perhaps. Maybe forty. It felt like hours. Inside her pocket, her left hand clasped over her phone, but she refused to pull it out in order to check the time. It did not matter. She would wait all night.

A small group passed by the mouth of the alley. Ash tensed, her right hand tightening around her small bundle of keys - her last means of defence should anyone decide to get too close. But the group passed by her without taking notice, caught up in their own company and the giddy energy that came from being young and tipsy and wandering the night. Laughing and chatting amongst themselves, they carried on down the street, oblivious to any dangers the night might be holding, until the babel of their revelry became one more indistinguishable layer in the soundscape of the city.

Ash relaxed, letting out a long, shaky breath that turned to mist in front of her eyes. She shuffled from side to side, moving to keep her knees from locking and her feet from going numb. Her cheeks and the tips of her ears burned so painfully from the cold, that they might as well have been on fire. She wanted to go home. She wanted to be done with this mess.

Then she spotted her. At first, Ash didn’t dare raise her hopes. A head of blonde hair, so pale it seemed to glow white in the dim light. It had appeared across the street, emerging from the club entrance she’d been watching. The woman it belonged to stumbled down the front steps, and Ash flinched. She saw a considerate bouncer reach out and take her by the arm, steadying her. The woman laughed and waved away his concern as other hands took her and guided her down onto the pavement, before turning as a group and starting down the street.

Ash leapt into action, eyes sparing only the briefest glance up and down the road for oncoming traffic before she darted after them. Her legs trembled beneath her, as though they might give way with every step. She pushed forward. The blonde woman and her companions were heading away from her but Ash caught them easily, each of her long strides accounting for two of their drunken, stumbling steps. Instead of approaching them from behind, Ash dipped into the road and came around the group from the side, speeding ahead a little before stepping back onto the pavement and cutting them off. One of them swore at her sudden appearance, weaving out of the way in a drunken lurch.

“Watch it, ya dumb-”

“Kit!” Ash snapped, taking several people by surprise as the group came to a crumpled, disorganised halt. She ignored them, her eyes trained on the blonde woman at their center.

_“Katherine!”_

Katherine, better known as Kit, or Kitty, or even KitKat, depending on her sister’s mood, drew to a halt. She glanced around, glazed eyes blinking as she tried to focus.

“Hmmm?” She slurred, voice thick. “Who wants me?”

One of the men who had seen her down the steps still had an arm about her waist. He leaned in close and whispered in her ear. Kit shushed him, giggled, and knocked him about the shoulder playfully before her attention finally came in to focus on Ash, and her expression fell flat.

“Oh, it’s you.” She grumbled, “come to break up our fun, have you?”

“Who is it babe?” Her companion - a man who looked to be Ash’s age, with a face slick with sweat and grease - eyed Ash with something between a sneer and a scowl. “This your mum or somethin’? Want me to tell her to fuck off?”

“Who I am isn’t important,” Ash replied, fighting to keep her face impassive even as the man groped along her sister’s hip. She’d dealt with enough drunks over the years to learn that they had fragile egos as well as tempers, and that it took only the slightest of infractions on either to set them off.

“But you see my friends over there?” She thumbed over her shoulder. At the nearest street corner, a pair of police officers in high-vis jackets were standing nearby, watching the steady stream of late night drunks filtering from the club for signs of trouble. “You could try telling them instead.”

She watched carefully as several pairs of blurry eyes followed her indication. The _gentleman_ Kit had chosen for the evening snarled and spat.

“Piss off, will ya? We’ve done fuck all wrong.”

“She needs to come with me.”

“Nah. She’ll stay with us,” the man continued, looking down and grinning at the blonde on his arm who smiled back sleepily. Ash felt her blood rising, realising there was probably more than alcohol in her system.

“You can’t make her do shit. Now get out the way, unless you wanna tag along?”

A suggestion went up from the other men in the group. One of them whistled. Ash didn’t look at them.

“How old did she say she was?”

Kit’s smile vanished, her face falling into a scowl as she hissed through clenched teeth.

“Ignore her. Frigid cow will say anything-”

“She’s sixteen,” Ash continued, unperturbed. The hand that had steadily been snaking its way over Kit’s rib cage towards her breast stopped short. “Still want to take her home, do you?”

A tense moment followed, then the gentleman dropped his gaze to the woman on his arm. Through the haze of arousal - and whatever _else_ was coursing through his system - he seemed to notice something he hadn’t before. Maybe the cold air was helping to sober him up. Not a woman, he realised, and Ash could see the dawning horror on his face. A _girl_. For a moment he looked as though he might barge past regardless, but then he glanced back at the pair of officers and saw that their small gathering had garnered their attention. He scowled, twisted, pulling his arm back from around Kit without so much as another glance at her.

“Plenty more where she came from anyway,” he snarled. Then, in an attempt to recover his wounded pride, looked Ash up and down and spat at her feet.

She could feel his seething gaze following them as she snatched Kit by the arm, skirted past the group and headed back up the street. A stream of jeers and insults came in their wake. Ash grit her teeth, white hot with rage that seared through her. It was almost enough to put the freezing cold out of mind.

Ash marched her little sister up the street, past a string of nightclubs, weaving through throngs of teetering patrons. Kit waved at a few as they passed, but Ash kept her grip tight and pulled her along without stopping.

Kit allowed herself to be dragged along until they had turned the corner. Once out of sight from anyone who might recognise her, she stopped abruptly, almost tugging Ash over with the sudden shift in force.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” She cried, struggling to free herself from her elder sister’s strong grip. “All I wanted was one night - a bit of fun! Why’d you have to ruin it? Why’d you have to ruin _everything?_ ”

The sounds of nightlife were a background humm when they turned off the main road and started down a side street. A battered old Fiat shining dully in the orange glow of a streetlamp was parked a short distance away, facing them. Ash thought it looked tired and a little pissed off with the way the light cast shadows about its darkened headlights, but perhaps she was projecting. As they reached the car, she dropped Kit’s arm in favour of rooting around in her jacket pocket for her keys.

“Just because _you_ never go out,” Kit continued, her voice cracking with emotion as she slumped against the car. “Just because _you_ don’t have any friends doesn’t mean I can’t!”

Ash flinched, almost yanking the door from its hinges when she pulled it open.

“Get in the car.” She hissed, jaw tight. “Now.”

“No!”

Ash grabbed her by the shoulders, tried to twist and wrestle her body into place, but Kit fought back, squirming and flailing around with futile, booze-heavy swings.

“I’ve spent - all - **night** \- worried out of my - **damned mind!** Standing out - in the - freezing cold - like an **idiot** \- trying to find you,” Ash stammered, ducking several blows that came too close to her face, and finally managing to get Kit’s arms under her control. “My patience is gone! So when I say, ‘get in the car’ - **you get in the goddamned car!** ”

Kit swore in protest, glaring up as she continued to struggle. Ash stared back, and tried not to back down at the twisted expression she saw on her sister’s face. She knew she walked a delicate line - a tightrope over a pit of fire and fury that was Kit’s magic. It had been some time since she had unleashed her powers, longer still since she’d used them against someone, but Ash could feel the static rising in the air. Just when she began to wonder if Kit might actually attack her, a voice sounded right behind them.

“Excuse me. I beg you’ll pardon the intrusion, but perhaps you could help me?”

Neither of them had even seen the stranger approach. Ash would have jumped in surprise, if her anger wasn’t presently overriding her ability to feel anything else. She glanced around, stared at the stranger who had interrupted their fight, and felt her stomach lurch. Even half cast in shadow, something struck her as off about him.

He took a step forward, smiling at her and dipped his head politely. “I’m looking for someone. A Miss Emmeline Sampson.”

The cold chill that her anger had kept at bay suddenly flooded her chest, freezing and trapping the air in her lungs. She stared at the stranger for just a moment, then back down at Kit where she saw her own fears reflected in her sister’s eyes. Calm, she told herself. They had prepared for this.

She released her grip and turned, forcing her face to appear impassive. Clearing her throat, she shrugged and said:

“Sorry. Can’t help you,”

The stranger’s smile faltered at this. He glanced past Ash to the smaller girl who slunk down in her sister’s shadow.

“Are you quite certain that-”

“Yes, I’m certain. Excuse me.”

Kit was already ducking into the passenger seat, all traces of anger and teenage rebellion disappearing in light of this new development. Ash stepped out into the road, rounding the front of the car as she moved to the driver’s side, but the stranger was quicker. He stepped forward, placing himself between Ash and the door before she could reach it.

“I don’t mean to press the issue,” he continued, in a measured tone. “But you do bear a striking resemblance to the woman I’ve been sent to look for. Perhaps if we could talk for a moment?” He paused a beat, reading her expression, then drew back to grant her some space. “I admit this is not exactly how I would have liked for this meeting to go, but I assure you, I mean you no harm.”

“I don’t know who you’re after,” said Ash, her heart pumping wildly now. The stranger’s sudden appearance had been enough to startle her, but his _appearance_ was cause for alarm. Though slender, he was taller than her, which immediately placed her at a disadvantage if their altercation became physical. His dark hair seemed to shine green in the light from the streetlamps. And he was wearing - What the hell was he wearing? It looked to be something caught between an expensive suit and an old-timey butler costume. No, she observed, normal people did not look this way. And in her experience, where abnormality trod, danger followed.

“Please,” he continued, stretching out a conciliatory hand towards her. “I must insist. I’m under direct instruction from-”

“I don’t care. **Get out of my way.** ”

If the stranger took umbrage with her tone, Ash didn’t have a chance to find out. Suddenly, the driver’s door of the Fiat was thrown open. It hit the stranger flat across the back, and he stumbled forward as Ash dipped out of the way. She seized the opportunity, diving into the car just as Kit pulled back into her own seat.

Outside, the stranger was already back on his feet. Ash could just about make out the look of bewilderment on his face, as though Kit had snuck up on him and yelled ‘boo!’ instead of knocking him face first into the tarmac.

“Go!” Kit cried, as he turned back towards them. Then Ash felt the rising static; sensed the rush of magical energy filling the air. She turned her face away from the window, braced herself for a blast, before realising with dawning horror that the magic was rising from inside the car.

“No! Don’t!”

It was half a demand, half a beg. She made a grab for her sister’s arm, but Kit was already out of reach, climbing back outside. Even as she stumbled out, the tendrils of light that were her magic raced across her skin, rushing to form spheres that gathered in her hands. An outstretched palm thrust towards the stranger over the roof of the car, and a wave of radiant, electrifying energy tore from her at will.

There were sorcerers in the world who were rumoured to have such a fine mastery of their abilities that they could perform surgery with their magic. Ash didn’t know if this was true; she had certainly met magic users for whom it might have been, but her little sister was not one of them. The spell Kit had cast was a heavy, blunt blow - the magical equivalent of being hit over the head by a broad hammer. Or perhaps, _several dozen_ very broad hammers, for what she lacked in control, she more than made up for in magnitude. The little car rocked in the spell’s wake, the force throwing Ash against the dash. Then the moment passed, the air around them shifting back into normalcy just as quickly as it had changed. Pushing herself upright, Ash looked across first to see if Kit had been injured, then out her window for the stranger.

She checked the street in both directions, but he simply _wasn’t there._

“But - where?”

“Does it matter?” Kit snapped, stammering with the rush of adrenaline and magic in her system. “Just go!”

Without waiting to strap herself in, Ash jammed her keys into the old Fiat’s ignition and the engine struggled to life. Her eyes on the road, she put the car into gear and made for the end of the street. Just before turning back onto the main road however, she cast a glance back in her rearview mirror, and saw the stranger standing in the middle of the road once more, watching them as they drove away. Ash felt her stomach plummet. She wanted to be sick.

Kit managed a full thirty seconds after turning the corner before she broke the terrified silence that had settled between them.

“Who the fuck was that?”

Ash grunted. “No idea.”

“He knew your name.”

“I know.”

“Your real name.”

_“I know.”_

“He said he was looking for you-”

“Jesus, I know, Kit! Alright? I know!”

“Then who the fuck was he?”

“No idea.”

Kit paused for a beat, then: “Oh god, what if- No. No, no. It’s not. It can’t be.”

Ash said nothing. Even if it wasn’t _her_ , Kit’s magical stunt had effectively painted a target on their back.

“Pull over.”

“Are you joking?”

“Pull over!” Kit groaned, a hand over her mouth.

The roads were largely empty in the early hours of the morning. Ash pulled the car over with the passenger side to the pavement. Kit threw open her door before they’d rolled to a complete stop, spraying vomit over road and pavement and car alike. Ash leaned over to hold her long blonde hair, but her eyes never left the street. They’d stopped by an embankment that stretched alongside of the road for miles, its slopes rolling down into darkness that no doubt concealed a thicket. Peering down into it, a shiver ran through her body.

“Done?” She asked, suddenly anxious to get moving again.

Kit silently nodded, pulling herself back into her seat. As they began to move again, she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, and, apparently sobered by her heaving up whatever was left in her stomach, turned to her sister.

“If they found us, they could be at the flat already.”

Ash nodded grimly, her knuckles white on the steering wheel.

“I know. We aren’t going home.”

Kit’s eyes went wide. “But - but, Ash, _please_. Everything we have-”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, in a final tone that brooked no further discussion.

She’d foreseen this as one of many possible eventualities. She had contingencies in place. Reserves of cash and clothes, burner phones, some other necessities, all stashed away in a storage facility nearby. The keys were on her person at all times, just in case. But she hadn’t been able to bring herself to leave items of sentimental value in a locker somewhere. They’d stayed at home where she could protect them, keep them close. Now she was paying the price for her decision. She pressed her eyes tight together for a moment and tried not to think about the things she’d never see again.

They drew up to a junction. Ash slowed to a stop behind a set of traffic lights shining red and turned to stare at her passenger.

Though Kit fought to hide it, her head turned away to her window, Ash knew she was crying. In light of her carelessness, her insults, her disregard for the rules, Ash’s urge to lean over and hold her sister close was tainted by the impulse to wrap her hands around her neck and choke the living daylights out of her. She settled for leaning across and putting on her sister’s seatbelt. Kit sat still and didn’t respond until Ash moved away, then pulled her back into a tight squeeze. Ash flinched - Kit stank of booze, cigarettes, and sick, but she chose to ignore it, leaning into the embrace and cradling the back of her soft, blonde head in her hand.

“I’m sorry,” Kit whispered into the side of her neck, her words smothered by Ash’s hair. “I’m sorry. For what I said, for going out, for- for everything. I’m sorry, Ash. I’m so sorry.”

Her elder sister pulled away, forcing a smile as they came face to face. “I know you are. It’s alright.”

“But I can’t do this again, sis. I just _can’t._ ”

“Yes, you can.” Ash found her sister’s clammy hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “We don’t have a choice.”

A sudden movement in Kit’s periphery seized her attention. Glancing to see what had caught her attention, she spotted the source and paled.

“What?”

“Oh my god!”

Ash turned around. Kit was staring out at the empty junction, to where a man was standing in the yellow beam of the Fiat’s headlights. A tall man in a funny suit with green-tinged hair.

What the _fuck?_

“That’s impossible.” Kit gasped, grabbing at Ash’s jacket sleeve. “I mean, I’m still coming down but that’s _impossible_ , right?”

Ash didn’t reply. She couldn’t. The man heading towards them, walking slowly, his hands up in a placatory manner. He was smiling.

There was no way, _no way_ that he could have followed them through the empty streets without them noticing. Ash turned, looked around. There were no other cars nearby, no vehicles of any kind. Even if he had managed to get here somehow, how the hell had he known where they’d go, the route they’d take, _and_ beaten them to it?

He was drawing closer. Ash could see his face clearly now. His smiling expression was still calm, but apprehensive. The light was still red. Ash revved her engine. The stranger came to a halt, hands still held palm out as if willing her not to move. Ash glanced in her mirrors, saw nothing behind her. She jammed the gearstick into reverse and swung out, turning the car to a ninety degree point before moving back into first and barrelling forwards. She sped across the empty lanes, bouncing over the grassy bank dividing their side of the road from the oncoming traffic, and sped away in the opposite direction.

There was another breathless pause before Kit could think to speak.

“How the - How did he?”

Ash didn’t reply. Her eyes were wide, but barely taking note of the road ahead of her.

“Hey!” Kit shook her. “Are you listening? Just how the hell’d he appear like that out of nowhere?”

Ash didn’t reply. Her mouth was dry. Her eyes suddenly blurry. She blinked once, twice. Tried to focus. It was impossible. Just _impossible_. But perhaps - Perhaps if the stranger knew who she was, he would know other things about her too. Maybe he’d been following her for a while, learning her routes, her habits. Maybe he was tracking their car somehow. Maybe he’d just gotten lucky, found a faster route and that’s how he’d managed to head them off at the junction. But then why hadn’t she seen a car? And how had he managed to just appear like that, as though from thin air? Ash had looked away from the road for, what - fifteen, maybe twenty seconds tops? It was impossible, _inhuman_ to move that fast.

There was an answer, of course. But before it could even fully form in her mind, she crushed it; too afraid of what it would entail.

She blinked, pressing the heel of her hand into her eyes. In her lap, her phone vibrated and slipped, tumbling down into the gap between her seat and the center console. She dropped her attention for the briefest of moments. When she looked up there was something in the road. Someone. She braked hard on instinct, swerving from the figure. The car spun from the road and her control, hurtling sideways across the pavement and rolling once, twice, three times before it finally came to a halt. Something hit her head, hard. She heard Kit scream. It seemed distant.

She heard a crackling, crunching. Urgent steps on frozen undergrowth. She smelled the earth, fresh air. It hurt to breathe. A cough sent agony through her chest, as though her ribs were threatening to split apart. Where was Kit? It was hard to think, to focus. Hands grabbed at her, pulled her this way and that. Then a bright light, painful even against her closed eyes. New voices. _Where was Kit?_ She tried to reach out, move her arms, her fingers, but her body refused to obey. Everything hurt, everything felt so heavy.

It went dark, but her thoughts stretched out into eternity.

_Where was her sister?_

Please be alright. Oh God, _please_.

Sound returned to her. Shapes in the darkness. A feeling unlike anything she’d ever experienced washed over her body. There was sudden clarity in her mind, her vision cleared. Unfamiliar faces swam into view. Then the pain hit in earnest, and she heard screaming once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we go. I must have rewritten this entire thing from sctratch 3 times now and I'm still not happy with it, BUT I'm excited for this project. Despite being kind of a pain in the arse, this story is something I'm really looking forward to sharing, so I hope you stick around and enjoy it too.
> 
> Updates fortnightly at a minimum. Honestly, it depends on the time I can carve out and the length of the chapter.


	2. The Woman with Two Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She looked out into the night, found it blank and unknowing, mocking her in its indifference, its apathy.
> 
> What are you going to do, it seemed to ask her. In her mind it took a voice she knew all too well. One from her memories. From her nightmares. She saw the curl of familiar, painted lips, heard the sneer behind them.
> 
> What can _you_ do?

Lucifer watched the Devildom pass by in a blur of lights. For a land where the sun never rose, its denizens never seemed to sleep.

His favourite coffee shop, _A Cup of Sorrow_ , was gone. Where he expected to find a darkly-lit and intimate nook, now closed for the evening, he was affronted instead by hive of bright lights and activity. A group of young demons gathered around a shop front sporting neon signs written in human Japanese. Lucifer rolled his eyes at the pretense, but no doubt this novelty was not without its unique appeal. There must have been twenty patrons hanging around outside, overflow from those who could not find seats within, all carrying domed plastic cups each as big as their heads and filled to the brim with foaming, colourful slurry.

He tried to console himself at this sight. After all, business was business and all of it was good for the Devildom, whatever form it took. Still, he could not help but feel a little resentful as he watched several of the young demons pull out their phones for photos with their enormous drinks. Without knowing, he had lost something, and the rest of the world ticked on unaware and unfeeling at his loss.

Beside him, Diavolo spoke. “How could this have happened?”

Lucifer sighed and let his head fall back against the cushioned headrest, watching the neon lights fade into the distance. “I suppose it is only the way of things.”

“How do you mean?”

Lucifer turned. In the prince’s hand lay a thin leather bifold, recovered from the wreckage of the car crash. It was open, and the photo of a woman stared back at them from behind a plastic window. If he tilted his head a little and squinted, he could just about make the connection between this picture and the bloodied woman Barbatos had brought to them, just hours before. She looked older than the age the card had listed, and had an air about her that suggested a lack of care. Perhaps the photo was taken on a bad day, Lucifer thought. Perhaps life had not been kind to her.

Realising his mistake, Lucifer cleared his throat. “There is a possibility that some sections of our intelligence are obsolete.” He said. “I’ll be sure to bring the other candidates’s information up to date before our next attempt.”

“And our current _attempt?_ ” Diavolo laced the word with something Lucifer could not quite grasp.

“Is that not for you to decide?”

With a sigh, Diavolo snapped the wallet shut and returned it to his breast pocket.

“I’m asking for your advice, Lucifer.”

The Avatar of Pride said nothing. He had already outlined the most sensible plan of action. What space - what _need_ was there for personal input? The car hit a portion of uneven road and they jostled in their seats.

“We should cross-reference the faults in our information with the human’s own testimony,” he offered, when the ride evened out. “Before we commit to any alterations of our own.”

Diavolo huffed. “You make it sound like an interrogation.”

Perhaps, Lucifer wished to say, but he kept quiet. Considering the confidence with which the prince had undertaken this project, Diavolo had faltered farther than Lucifer would have expected at this first hurdle. Had they both not considered the potential failures? Had they both not discussed at great lengths the risks; the possibility that not every potential student would be agreeable? Or had Diavolo always secretly hoped for success on the first try? Lucifer looked across at where his master sat hunched, chin tucked to chest, and quickly turned away. Seeing Diavolo like this made him uneasy.

He was too attached - always too attached, to his dreams, his ideals, even people.

No more words passed between them until they reached the House of Lamentation. A series of darkened windows met them, and Lucifer wondered just how many of his brothers had ignored the strict instructions he had left in place. _Stay home, assist Simeon, keep away from the spare room by the kitchen._ It seemed as though extra chores were in order, he mused. Maybe this time he would take their phones. That might finally get through to them.

Barbatos was prompt at their door, and the servant offered a polite, silent bow as his lord moved past him into the night air. Barbatos kept his eyes down. He still looked wan, unnerved despite Diavolo’s earlier reassurances.

“Perhaps I should stay here, my Lord,” Barbatos offered, and Diavolo gave a curt nod.

“That may be for the best.”

They strode shoulder to shoulder up to the house. Lucifer found the main door unlocked, a dimly-lit foyer waiting beyond.

“I should find Simeon,” Lucifer began, as the doors closed behind them. “My Lord, perhaps you would care to-”

“There’s no need, Lucifer,” came a voice from the upper landing.

Lucifer had no trouble following the sound to its source. Though softly-spoken, Simeon’s words carried well across the space. Dressed in white, his smile not quite reaching his tired eyes, the angel descended the stairs to meet them.

Lucifer frowned. “I see it is not only my brothers who have decided to abandon their duty tonight.”

“Our patient sleeps,” said Simeon, waving away Lucifer’s reproach. “I saw no harm in spending some time taking in your gallery here.” He elaborated with a graceful arm, indicating the wall nearby.

“Then, she’ll recover?” Asked Diavolo, and Lucifer wished he would try a little harder to mask the open concern in his voice. It did not become the future King of the Devildom to be so personally invested in some human visitor.

Simeon nodded and crossed the tiled floor to them. “I believe she already has. She suffered some broken bones, several cracked ribs. Nothing I couldn’t fix. The knock to her head was some cause for alarm, although I believe she is, as the humans are wont to say, _out of the woods._ ”

“We need to speak with her,” said Lucifer. Simeon folded an arm around himself, chin resting on graceful fingers. A pensive frown creased his brow.

“There are some minor, skin-deep lacerations,” he continued, “but they should heal over time. I have left some poultices in her room. She should apply one every few hours once she wakes. She will scar otherwise-”

“Simeon,” warned Lucifer. “If all but scrapes and bruises are dealt with, I am certain she-”

“I can only give you my recommendation as her temporary physician,” the angel’s voice took on a cooler tone. “You certainly do not need my permission within your own house, Lucifer.”

“And what do you recommend?” Diavolo asked, slicing through the rising tension.

“Bedrest. Water and a little food when she wakes,” he cast a sideways glance at Lucifer, and did not blanch under the demon’s hard stare. “And perhaps a _gentle_ hand to ease her into new surroundings.”

“You are certain she sleeps?”

“Positively. I gave her a powerful magical draught. She woke several times during my attempts to mend the breaks in her arm.” He looked away. “It was not pleasant for the poor girl.” An uneasy quiet settled in around them. Lucifer pictured the scene, and for a moment thought he could hear the echoes of her screams whisper through the darkened house.

Simeon cleared his throat. “She also asked after her sister. Demanded, in fact. She kept muttering a name.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“Nothing.” The angel said, and gave a defenceless shrug. “What could I say?”

Diavolo bowed his head, gravely. He stepped forward, clasping the angel’s shoulder in a firm grip.

“Thank you, Simeon. It pains me to think what might have happened had you not been nearby.”

“Our father’s wisdom in all things,” Simeon smiled, head dipping graciously at the praise.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “If there’s nothing else to be done, might I suggest you go and get some rest?” Then he hesitated. “I daresay I could have a bed made up for you here, if you absolutely must keep an eye on your patient?”

“The wellbeing of _all_ our exchange students is important, after all.” Diavolo added.

Lucifer frowned. Was the human really to be considered such, even in light of all of this mess?

Simeon lowered his gaze once more.

“Thank you, Lord Diavolo. Though, I believe there is one thing of importance we should cover before I retire for the evening.”

\-----

Ash was awake.

She lay unmoving in an unfamiliar bed, staring straight ahead at an unfamiliar ceiling. Silvery moonlight came in through a nearby window and threw spectral shadows across the room. She blinked, squinting in the darkness, trying to make sense of the shapes around her. One thing was for certain, she thought, taking in the canopy of leaves overhead, the ivy crawling up the wall, this was not where she wanted to be.

She shut her eyes and tried to think back. She saw the streets of Greater London in her mind, the pervert with his hand on her sister’s waist, Kit’s face twisting furiously as they argued, and a strange man with green hair and _that name_ on his lips. She had been driving, she realised. And then? Then nothing. There was a gap in her memory, but judging from the pain that wracked her chest with every inhale, and the lingering, sickening sensation of magic that coated her inside and out, she could make a reasonable guess.

A crash, she realised. She took a deep, steadying breath. Finally, when she dared, she flexed her fingers and toes, relief flooding her body when she felt them all respond. There was pain in her left arm, but at least it was still attached to her body. Little victories, she thought, slowly letting her head fall to the side to take in the rest of the room.

It was dark, but gradually her eyes adjusted, and the shadows gave way to the outlines of her surroundings. A number of bookcases lined a nearby wall, an enormous wardrobe loomed in a far corner. A stately dining table and six chairs. Some kind of console bearing an overflow of knick-knacks and miscellania that she could not discern from this distance or angle.

She spied a door and frowned, concentrating for sounds on the other side. But she heard nothing, not a whisper of movement or an echo of life from beyond.

Her breath released in a long, controlled sigh. At least, for the time being, she was alone. Carefully, inch by tentative inch, she began to push herself up. More pain bloomed across her body with the effort; a tightness in her chest that seemed to concentrate on her left hand side. She gasped and bit down against the inside of her cheek in an effort to keep quiet. Something must have hit her from that side, she realised, but try as she might, only vague, grey images occupied that part of her memory.

Someone had folded sheets over her lower half. She kicked them away as she turned to ease herself into an upright position over the side of the bed, her feet lowering to a cold, stone floor. She was naked, aside from bandages covering her from waist to sternum, and the bottom half of her underwear. A series of tiny scars scattered her chest like freckles, red and fresh. She looked around, but the rest of her clothes were nowhere to be seen.

They weren’t the only thing missing. Kit had been in the car with her. Ash could remember leaning over to put on her seatbelt, smelling her sweat, the familiar scent of her sister’s perfume laced with alcohol and vomit. The feeling of cold dread that spreads from her core is chased by guilt. _She_ had put Kit in the car, Ash realised, _she_ had put her sister directly in harm’s way. And now - now where was she? Was she hurt? Was she even alive? Had _they_ found them?

She swallowed hard, fought to resist the rising panic. If Kit was here, then she would need help, and Ash could not afford to fall apart.  
Slowly, using the metal bed frame for support, she pulled herself to her feet. Though her legs wobbled beneath her, they did not carry the heavy, leaden feeling that came from prolonged bed rest. With a little luck, she had only been out for a few hours. Maybe a day at most.

Instinct drew her to the window. It was old, held fast by a pair of bolt locks which refused to budge when Ash tried wriggling them loose. She pressed her face against the cool glass instead, the sensation welcome and sobering.

A sprawling garden, possibly beautiful at one point but now long overgrown and winter-dead, met her gaze. She looked down. She was on the ground floor, but still faced a drop of around eight feet. But even if she did manage to wrestle open the window and make the drop without breaking an ankle or twisting a knee, what would she do then? _Maybe_ she could run, regroup, come back in a few hours or days when she was better prepared. But another scan of her surroundings only dampened her hopes. She had no idea where she was - even the horizon looked alien to her. What if she ran and found no support? Worse - what if she got lost, couldn’t find her way back? She’d be abandoning Kit, or at least her best chance at finding her again.

She looked out into the night, found it blank and unknowing, mocking her in its indifference, its apathy.

What are you going to do, it seemed to ask her. In her mind it took a voice she knew all too well. One from her memories. From her nightmares. She saw the curl of familiar, painted lips, heard the sneer behind them.

What can _you_ do?

Her heart began to race, and Ash forced her eyes close, tried to calm her ragged breathing. _In and out._ Concentrate. Think. There must be something she could latch on to, something she could use. Just in, and out. _Think._

The residue of magic made it difficult. A cloying sickness pervaded her senses, clouding her mind until the sensation was all she could focus on. She felt dizzy. She wanted to crawl back into bed, go back to sleep and let it all be a bad dream. She looked back over her shoulder. The bed looked comfortable. Maybe in a few hours she’d feel better; be able to think more clearly. Then she could go find Kit.

The realisation hit her with some force. It wasn’t merely the _residue_ of magic that she could feel, but something with intent; the active presence of a spell still working against her.

They must have used magic to induce sleep, she realised. Even now it tugged at the corners of her eyes, trying to lure her back into oblivion. It must have been strong. Maybe even one of _hers_ , Ash thought bitterly. There were few who could get past her defences.

The fingers of her good hand flew to her chest on instinct, their tips tracing lines that had been long carved into her skin. Whoever had undressed her, tended to her, would have seen them. Her seals. They must have misread them, she realised, or vastly underestimated their effect, because they had still used magic against her. A sliver of hope glinted in the moonlight. If they thought she was still out, she might have time. If she moved _now_ , acted _now_ , then maybe she could slip by while their guard was down.

It was not much, but it was all she had.

She turned, and her attention fell to the enormous wardrobe. The musty smell of long-disuse met her nose when she threw open the doors and began rifling through the rack. There was a jumble of shapes and styles and sizes, and looked more like a collection of costumes than of actual clothing, but finally Ash found something she could use. A t-shirt, though it fell to her knees, purple striped with bright orange and lime green, but there was no time to be discerning.

A large, silver candlestick - magically lit, for it lacked an actual candle - was set by the door. The magical flame extinguished at her touch, and she hefted the candlestick into her hands, passing it from palm to palm, and found the weight substantial.

No one was waiting on the other side of the door, and Ash blew out a sigh of relief. If she stayed out of sight, she might just have time to find Kit and get the hell away from here before anyone noticed she was gone. Stepping out into the hallway, her feet treading softly onto the carpeted floor, she pulled the door behind her close with a soft _click_.

She crept down the hall. The next exit seemed to lead into a kitchen. The door was ajar, and residual smells of cooking lingered in the air, though nothing currently sat on the old-fashioned stove; the fires were out and the room was empty. There were a few more closed doors, but pressing her ear against them revealed no sounds from within, and the handles she tried were all locked. She passed paintings, a decorative table, a pair of chairs with cobwebs between the legs. Dim sconces lit the way at regular intervals, but the brightest light was ahead of her, beyond the left-hand turning at the end of the hallway. She drew nearer, keeping close to the wall, wincing at every creak the floorboards gave underfoot.

There were voices in the light, she realised. Talking, low and unhurried. She inched closer still, barely daring to breathe as she strained to make out the details of their conversation. Men, she noted, which is not what she expected. Two - no, three, at least. She could just about distinguish individual voices, the occasional word being spoken -

Suddenly the air shifts, heavy with cologne. Warm breath right behind her ear.

“No one ever tell ya it’s rude to eavesdrop, human?”

She leapt forward with a yelp, swinging the heavy candlestick around on reflex. It cleaved an arch but met only air as its target leapt back beyond its reach. A sprightly old man, she thought, on seeing a head of white hair, but then he shifted and she could see his face. He was young, maybe just a few years shy of herself. 

“Hey, hey, hey! Crazy human! Just what d’ya- **Hey!** ”

She swung again, but he did not duck a second time. Instead, he lashed out with a hand, catching the candlestick and yanking it powerfully from her grip. Ash grit her teeth, unwilling to give up her only means of defence so easily, and held on tight. They tumbled together, tangling in a mess of limbs until one tripped and took the other with them. They landed in a heap with Ash on the bottom, kicking and clawing and swearing up at the man in a furious, incoherent babble.

“Stupid human - Ow! Just - stop - stop it!”

Ash was too incensed to listen. Striking with the heel of her hand, she hit him hard between his eyes, and something shattered. A pair of tacky, golden sunglasses, now snapped along the bridge of the nose, fell away from the man’s face and dropped to the floor. 

“No!”

For a moment she thought she might have hurt him, but then she saw his focus fall away from her and to the broken pieces of his glasses. His lip curled back, his teeth bared in a ferocious snarl. She cried in pain when he suddenly seized her injured wrist, pinning her arms to the floor in an attempt to keep her still.

**“Mammon!”**

The white-haired man above her looked up at this new voice, the fury on his face subsiding to make way for something else. Ash didn’t waste the opportunity. He should have pinned her legs.

With a grunt, she forced a knee into his groin. The man let out a strangled yelp of pain, squeezing her arms so tightly she thought they might break. His head dipped low as he began to curl in on himself, and Ash thrust her forehead into his nose. There was a sickening crunch, another cry, and blood showered down across her in a visceral spray. The man’s hands abandoned Ash to shield himself, and he rolled away, wailing pitiably.

Ash scrambled to her knees. Already, others were hurrying towards her, and she looked around for the abandoned candlestick. She spotted it nearby, dove to grab it -

A black-shoed foot reached it at the same time. Ash followed it upwards, to the man it belonged to. A pale face stared down at her, a calm expression belied by dark, cruel eyes. He raised a hand out as though to grab her -

“No. Stop.”

The hand stilled. The command had come from one of the others, but Ash found it hard to pull away her gaze.

“Please, let’s give her some space.”

The pale-faced man withdrew, though his eyes never left hers. She scowled and tried to muster a similar look of cold fury as a defence, but found herself lacking under his stare.

The man who had pinned her - who had answered to ‘Mammon’ - was rolling around on the floor, one hand clutched to his bleeding nose and the other to his groin. He was groaning in pain, mumbling incoherently but Ash caught the word _'human'_ more than once and swallowed hard. One of the others, tanned and dressed in white, knelt down beside him and tried to gently prise his hand from his bleeding face.

“Emmeline-”

Ash flinched.

_“Natasha.”_

A third and final stranger stepped in besides Pale Face, the one who had called him off just moments before. He was tall like the others, but broader, and dressed in a red coat that leant him a militarian appearance. His expression was firm, but his eyes were warm, and held something akin to concern as he looked down at Ash. He smiled as he stepped towards her, hand extended, and Ash scuttled back across the floor until her back hit the wall. She needed no introductions. She knew _exactly_ who he was.

He stilled, hand falling with his smile. He watched her with great care, like a trainer would a wild animal, waiting to see how she would lash out next.

“Natasha,” he repeated. “Is that how you’d prefer to be addressed?”

When Ash only stared, he continued. “You have my word, no one here is going to hurt you. My name is Diavolo, this is Lucifer, my right hand. Over there is Simeon, and,” he hesitated, and Ash caught the tug at the corner of his lips. “Mammon, of course, who you seem to have already met.”

Ash opened her mouth to speak, but found her throat dry. She swallowed, and managed: “Where is my sister?”

Diavolo blinked. “Alive and safe,” he replied, without preamble. Ash thought she might sob with relief, and almost choked with the effort to suppress it. She was not about to show weakness here, not in front of these - these -

“Safe?” She croaked, knowing how perspective could shift meaning behind the word. “Where?”

“In the hospital, under the best of care, I assure you.” He continued. “But please understand, this is not at all how I wanted this meeting to go. There is much I’d like for us to discuss before-”

“I’m not talking to any of you!” She snapped, then hesitated, quickly adding: “Not until I see my sister for myself.”

She could feel Pale Face - _Lucifer,_ she corrected - still staring at her but she didn’t dare meet his eye a second time. Over by the other side of the hallway, Mammon continued to writhe and moan.

“Broke my glasses,” he said, sounding nasal. Ash wondered if she’d actually broken his nose. “Crazy human. Send this one back, I tell ya. I ain’t livin’ with that animal in the house!”

“Be quiet, Mammon!” Lucifer hissed.

_In the house,_ Ash scowled. Like she was some kind of untrained pet. Still, what was that supposed to mean?

The demon prince - for Ash was too familiar with his image to mistake him for anyone else, considered her silently for some time. She reddened under his watch, her stolen t-shirt had rucked up against her thighs but she pretended not to notice.

Finally, he sighed, folding his arms across his chest.

“Please, at least allow me to explain why-”

“No,” she barked, adrenaline making her braver than she felt. “You wanna talk? We can talk all you like _after_ I’ve seen Kit.”

Lucifer gave a huff of mirthless laughter. “Interesting. This one is quite different from Solomon.”

Ash pretended not to hear him, kept her eyes on the demon in front.

“Shall I see her returned to her room, my Lord?” Lucifer continued.

Diavolo considered her a moment longer. “No,” he said. “Of course, we will take you to your sister. It is only natural that you should want to see to the safety of your family first, after all.”

Ash thought she caught something then, an edge of something in the prince’s tone, an unspoken _something_ that was meant not for her ears, but someone else’s. From the way he turned to glance meaningfully at Lucifer, she could guess for who it was intended.

“Perhaps I could see to that wrist first?”

The man in white had risen from his patient. Across from her, Mammon sat propped up against the wall still covered in blood and staring daggers at her.

“My glasses,” Mammon sulked. “They were expensive, ya know! I want compensating!”

“Be quiet, Mammon!” Lucifer snapped, and Ash felt a flicker of something warm at the way Mammon jumped and shrank back.

The others were staring at her expectantly. At the mention of her wrist, the pain there had begun to throb again, calling her attention. Still, she was hesitant. To let any one of these things get close to her-

“Simeon is not like us,” said Diavolo, sensing her resistance, though he looked saddened. “He is a guest here, from the Celestial Realm.”

An angel, she realised, hope blooming in her chest, but her relief at this revelation was short-lived. An angel who associated with demons? Who had ever heard of such a thing?

Simeon smiled at her. It felt warm, like standing in a sunbeam. Slowly, she held out her arm in permission, and he knelt down beside her, tenderly taking her hand between both of his own.

She turned away from the magic, swallowing her revulsion. Even though Simeon’s was unlike any she’d experienced before - less _forceful,_ somehow - it still raised gooseflesh across her body, bringing back memories she’d rather keep suppressed. The seals on her chest and back burned hot as they resisted, and she felt Simeon _push_ through their barrier with some effort. Suddenly the remnants of magic she’d felt on waking made sense. It had been his, she realised. He had been the one who must have tended to her before.

Threads of light like spun gold wove over her skin, spreading from her fingertips up and along her arm, disappearing under the sleeve of her t-shirt. Pain lanced through her bones for just a moment before quickly fading to an itchy tingling, then nothing.

No wonder her seals had failed to keep him completely at bay, she thought. Had they even been designed with an angel’s magic in mind? Even with her somewhat limited education on the matter, she knew celestial magic varied to that of a human. But what about a demon? Would they be able to press through her protection just as Simeon had done? And what would that entail for her then, if they could?

She caught herself, stopped short of voicing her thoughts aloud and counted silently in her head. After eleven, the light faded, and Simeon gently lowered her arm. She flexed her fingers, balled them tight into a fist a few times. Everything felt normal, as though there’d never been an injury there at all.

“There,” he said, his voice was soft, calming. “Can you stand?”

She took his hand when he offered, feeling better on her feet than cowering against the wall. Mammon was still slumped against his, she noted, now holding a wad of bloodied cloth to his nose. For a moment she was seized by the urge to say something to him - apologise, even. But the instinct flickered and died before she could act on it.

Simeon pulled back her attention. “Perhaps a change of clothes, if a field trip is on the schedule?”

Ash looked down at herself, bare legs and a t-shirt now splattered with blood, and suddenly felt foolish. Had she really hoped to fight her way through a team of demons armed with a _candlestick?_ She wasn't even wearing a bra, for fuck's sake.

“We shalln’t be long,” Simeon continued, turning Ash with an arm about her shoulder as he walked her back down the corridor. They were half way to her room before voices started up again in the distance.

“Try not to worry,” Simeon whispered, when she glanced back at the others. “Everything will be put to rights, soon enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> f in chat for Lucifer's coffee shop


	3. I Tried To Warn You

Ash dressed with some difficulty; her left side still tender and largely uncooperative. Simeon’s healing of her bones may have been impeccable, but there remained a lingering ache through the muscles of her arm and torso that were not so easily mended by magic.

Someone had found clothes in her size, or rather, had bought new ones. Ash tore off tags bearing names and logos she didn’t recognise and threw on a set of fresh underwear, then a t-shirt and jeans. She didn’t want to think about who had picked them out, or when, or how they knew which size to get.

An old-fashioned bowl full of steaming, rose-scented water and a washcloth had been left on the dresser, and Ash could take a hint. She sponged away patches of dried demon blood from her face and neck, watching the water turn pink when she dunked the cloth a second time. There was blood more than she’d expected, especially considering it had all come from a single, if powerful, blow. A raised red and tender lump on her forehead promised a bruise where she’d struck out against Mammon’s nose, but she bore that like a badge of pride. _That’s what you get,_ she imagined it to say, _that’s what you get when you fuck with me._

She checked her face one final time in a small oval mirror hanging on a nearby wall and tried to ignore the darkness beneath her eyes, her pallid colour made worse in the dim, yellowish light. It didn’t matter how she looked, for there were far more important things to deal with, though she might have killed for a chance to brush her teeth.

A pair of new boots waited by the end of the bed, along with a coat and a hat and a bundle of other cold-weather accessories. She grabbed the coat and boots, ignoring the rest, and headed for the door. Simeon stood waiting patiently for her on the other side. He led her back along the hallway, past the empty kitchen and the spot of their earlier encounter. They headed through a foyer with twin, curving staircases and out through a set of double doors into the night. Dead gardens flanked the stone path that brought them to a wrought iron gate, beyond which Ash could see the outline of a black town car with little diplomatic flags fluttering on the hood.

“This is where I leave you,” said Simeon, coming to a halt as before them the car door opened and a tall man with a pale face emerged. _Lucifer,_ Ash recalled from their brief introduction, another demon preceded by reputation. She looked away and back to Simeon.

“You mean you aren’t coming?” She asked, wishing she could better hide the uncertainty in her voice.

It wasn’t that she’d come to trust Simeon in the extremely small amount of time they’d spent together; any angel who associated with demons must certainly have a story to tell, after all. But his presence was soothing, and certainly preferable to that of the demon who loomed nearby, radiating nothing but a tremendous contempt for all around him.

Simeon laid a hand on her shoulder. His mouth opened, but whatever he had intended to say was lost to a sudden and powerful gust of wind. It took them by surprise, kicking up clouds of dust and dirt from the pavement. Ash turned around, throwing an arm across her eyes in to protect them from the debris. When the breeze died down, just as strangely and suddenly as it had started, she tentatively peered out from between her fingers and noticed a light shining from the highest floor of the house. A shadow stood there at the window, and though Ash was too far to clearly distinguish its features, she was struck by the distinct feeling that whoever it was, was watching them. The thought sent an unpleasant shiver down her spine.

“In your own time, _please,_ ” came Lucifer’s sardonic drawl. Ash whipped around, and saw that he too was warily eyeing the house.

Simeon squeezed her shoulder, shot her one last, reassuring smile, before Ash left him and dipped into the vehicle.

The cabin inside bore two long benches running in parallel, and a single occupant. Diavolo beamed when he saw her and gestured for her to take the seat directly in front of him. Ash hesitated. She hated travelling backwards, and hated more the idea of following some demon’s instruction, but she could play nice enough for now. She slid along the bench and into place, knees drawn in tight and head bent low.

Lucifer climbed in after her, taking the seat beside his master. With three of them, the air seemed to close in around her, and Ash swallowed hard. She turned to look out of the window, watching the empty streets pass by with their winter-barren trees and dim, yellow street lamps. She sniffed and caught the expensive, leathery smell of the seats, and the hint of men’s cologne. Sandalwood, she noted, almost absent-mindedly. Some kind of earthy spice. And warmth, a trace of sweetness. Vanilla? She wrinkled her nose, burying her face in her coat, not wanting to be burdened with this intimate knowledge.

She sat stiffly in her seat, aware and uncertain of her overly-straightened posture, the awkward position of her sweaty hands clasped tight in her lap. She fought the urge to fuss and squirm, silently assuring herself that stillness was confidence, and confidence could be faked, even when there was a deficit. Lucifer meanwhile, either utterly unaware or unconcerned by her anxiety, took out a phone and began to tap out long messages. She studied his face in the window’s reflection and wondered briefly who he was contacting. Was it someone at the hospital? Was he discussing her sister’s condition at this very moment? Did he know something she did not?

In truth, Ash had been expecting a bombardment of questions from the demons the moment she had found herself alone with them, but to her surprise Diavolo held well to his promise. Not a word passed his lips, not even an attempt to levy information from her under the guise of idle chatter. Despite the initial relief this silence granted, after several minutes she found herself longing for some kind of break in the tension, even if it were just to inanely evaluate the weather. 

Not to mention there were her own questions burning a hole in her gut. She was starved for further details of Kit’s condition, of the events that had led them into this bizarre and dangerous situation. She needed to know more about the green-haired man and his part in all of this. And not to mention Diavolo’s interest and plans for her.

At this thought her attention moved to the demon prince. He too was staring out at the darkened streets, a placid smile fixed to his face, though Ash found it contradictory to the way his eyes never seemed to rest. He blinked and suddenly caught her staring in the reflection, his smile widening as his eyes met her own, which widened in horror before quickly lowering and darting away.

They slowed and came to a stop some time later after passing through gates of twisted black iron, arched and tipped with gold that caught and shone in the dim light. They were an impressive sight; perhaps twice Ash’s own height and then some at their peak, though given their elaborate design she presumed this was more a statement of prestige than of actual security.

As she climbed out, she saw they had arrived at some kind of manor house, though that description did not seem sufficient. The building before them was enormous. Ash counted three stories of arched, darkened windows set in pairs along stone walls that ran as far as she could see and disappeared into the darkness on either side of her.

A short distance away stood a set of marble steps, and the grand doorway at their peak bore a sign of shining metal, letters six feet tall and back lit so that they could neither be mistaken, or ignored.

“This,” said Diavolo, not caring to hide the pride in his voice. “Is the Royal Academy of Diavolo.” He looked down at her, his smile broad and expectant as though waiting for her to gasp in awe of the announcement. “But most people call it RAD, for short.”

“A school?” Ash frowned, “You said my sister was in the hospital.”

“Ah, of course.” Diavolo coughed to clear his throat, looking thoroughly dejected by her lack of enthusiasm. “Inside the school is the means of returning to the,” he hesitated, “the human realm, which is where your sister currently rests.”

Ash drew in a long breath, taking the information and the unpleasant shiver that accompanied this revelation in her stride. Though she hadn’t known for certain, there had been signs that this was not her world. She had so far managed to either ignore or explain them away, unwilling to deal with any more unpleasant truths. There had been enough of those to suffer already.

Diavolo was watching her warily, as if waiting to see if he would have another outburst on his hands.

“The moon is too large,” she began, as a way of explanation. “The stars aren’t right. The clock back in the house read seven o’clock, and yet there’s no sign of dawn on the horizon. And aside from all that,” she paused, filling her lungs through her nose. “It smells different here.”

Diavolo did not reply, just looked up at the sky and sniffed. “Do you think so?” He asked, after a brief consideration. “I’ve never noticed.”

“Why am I here, if my sister isn’t?” Ash demanded.

“The inter-realm transport is taxing for healthy humans,” Diavolo explained calmly, gesturing for her to walk with him. “In light of her injuries, we deemed it an unnecessary risk to take.”

Ash scoffed. Diavolo ignored her.

Lucifer had hurried past them to the front of the car, and was currently bent forward and speaking in a low tone to the driver through a crack in the tinted window, which was raised hurriedly on their approach.

“Whatever your opinions of us,” Diavolo continued, as Lucifer fell in step behind them. “Whatever preconceptions you may hold, you should know that it was not our aim to bring harm to either of you,” he paused, turning back to her as they reached the top of the stairs. “But I promised to hold our talk until afterwards, didn’t I?”

The interior of the Royal Academy of Diavolo did not fall short of its grand title. Ash was caught off guard by both the grandeur and sheer size of the foyer that accepted them. A dozen doorways spread across the wide, open space filled her with anticipation as her mind reeled with thoughts of what lay behind them. For what manner of teachings must go on at a demon school of all things? Lessons on how to seduce and trick mortals, no doubt; how to beguile their minds and prey on their innermost fears. Perhaps there were culinary classes, designed to educate its students on how to detect the tastiest and richest of human souls, for that was without a doubt a demon’s ultimate goal. It was simply an irrefutable fact. Demons sought out humans for pleasure, whether as a game to satiate their boredom or even as a means to satisfy baser needs. And afterwards, once they had received all they had hoped to gain, they sucked out their souls to feast on for good measure. Ash’s education on the methods and goals of demons had not glossed over this important fact, neither had it skimped on the gory details of accounts of humans who thought themselves too wise or too powerful to fall victim to a demon’s influence.

All of which brought Ash back to the crux of her situation; namely, what on earth did Diavolo, Prince of the Devildom, want with some twenty-four year old tailor from North London who had barely a penny to her name, and had about as much to do with those in power as a guppy in a garden pond does to a luxury liner atop the ocean?

The answer, of course, was her name. Not Ash, not Natasha, nor one of the multitude she’d adopted while on the run these past eight years. No, they had come looking for Emmeline Sampson. Prodigal, if infamous, child of the equally prodigal, and equally infamous, family. That was who Diavolo sought, and Ash could guess what he would want from someone who bore _that_ kind of name and reputation.

They headed down hallways, turning this way and that, before entering a large room set out with seats and benches to resemble a court. As with the rest of the school, it was empty at this early hour. Their footsteps echoed loudly in the vast, open space.

At the center of the room was a raised, stone dais. As they drew close, Ash saw the impression of a circle encompassing a many-pointed star etched cleanly into the surface. The star bore markers at each of its points, as was common practice in the use of rituals concerning summoning and magical telenavigation. Her education had covered this, too. But she recognised the markers to be runes only by their vague shape and position on the seal. Their precise nature eluded her; she had never seen them before.

It made sense, in that Devildom magics involving inter-realm telemetry which most humans still had yet to recover or rediscover for themselves should use demon-specific signs, but the knowledge that she had _no knowledge_ of them still frightened her. Unconciously, she brought a hand to her chest, thought back to how Simeon had pushed through her own seals. She had wondered how they would react to demon magic. It seemed her curiosity would soon be sated.

“Please,” said Diavolo, who had stepped onto the dais along with Lucifer and was holding out a hand towards her. His gaze lowered to her hand still clasped across her chest and he nodded, understanding.

“We used this very portal before,” he explained, and took a step back towards her, smiling warmly. “You have already survived the trip once.”

Ash narrowed her eyes at him. She wanted to argue that the line between surviving the trip and being killed by it still held the potential for being extremely painful for her, but she bit back the urge. Kit was on the other side, and Ash would brave pain and worse in order to be with her again. There was no point in letting anxiety have its way.

She climbed onto the dais.

“Demons have a natural instinct that helps them navigate the eight layers of the Devildom,” Diavolo continued to explain. Ash noticed that his hand was still extended out towards her. “Humans, at least, _most_ humans, can not so easily pass through without risk of, well-”

“Accidental and untimely ejection from the transport,” said Lucifer. "Often resulting with impromptu landings in pits of hellfire,” he peered down at Ash, and seemed to relish in the flicker of fear that crossed her face.

“Yes, thank you, _Lucifer,_ ” said Diavolo, in a tone that suggested he was anything but grateful. “Fortunately,” he continued, turning back to Ash, “there is a simple solution. You need only to _hold on._ ”

She looked down at his hand, realising what he meant. Rolling back the sleeve of her coat, she wiped her sweaty palm down her thigh before gripping the demon prince’s hand with her own. She had hoped to glean a look of disgust for her efforts, but he remained infuriatingly impassive. His hand was warm, she noted, unnaturally so, and there was a strange restraint in his grip, as though mindful of their great variances in strength and fragility.

Diavolo held his spare hand out, palm down over the center of the seal. As his fingers spread wide, Ash felt a pulse of magic surge from him, and a split second later something far more powerful from within the dais responded.

The world disappeared in a flash of light, and terrible pain lanced through her chest, so hot and so sudden that it might have been a blade of fire thrust between her ribs. She screamed, but the sound was lost to the endless chasm of emptiness that suddenly surrounded her. Vaguely, Ash felt her knees buckle. She collapsed, but there was no floor to catch her. She was falling into space. Into nothing. For the briefest moment she felt an icy wind thrash against her face, as though a door into a blizzard had suddenly been opened right in front of her, before it was quickly shut again, and sensation was lost. She could not breathe. Her lungs and heart were on fire. She was still falling. And then-

Then something stronger than the fall, more powerful than the forces dragging her down, pulled her back. She blinked, fought to see through streaming eyes, but all around her was a bright whiteness; radiant and far too painful to behold. She didn’t need to see to know that it was Diavolo hauling her back, or perhaps forwards; space and distance had no meaning to her here, there was only light, heat, and searing pain.

She landed hard, but she couldn’t tell where or what against. It was like waking underwater, fathoms deep where gravity itself became meaningless. All around her was an ocean that none of her senses could discern. They were muted, rendered useless by the trauma they had endured. Her ears rang and popped, her eyes blinded, and though certain she felt something hard against her back where just recently there had been but space, whatever information her nerve endings attempted to send to her brain became lost in the overwhelming feedback.

Slowly, things began to register. There were voices in the cacophony of ringing, and the light gave way to shapes and colours. People were leaning over her, she realised, she must have been lying on her back. She reached out, tried to feel her way, but suddenly there were hands reaching for her front. She heard the tearing of fabric, and then the voices went quiet.

It took almost everything left in her to reach up and grab one of the hands still tangled in the wreckage of her shirt.

“No,” she whispered, wondering if she’d even managed to say it aloud. “Don’t...just wait. _Wait._ ”

The voices were still muted, as though coming from the otherside of a wall, but Ash heard them hush and subside. She held tight to the wrist in her grip, and then, after a long pause, she felt it retract.

The itching, stinging sensation that began to swell was like an onslaught of furious fire ants trampling and biting their way across her skin. She grit her teeth and swore foully, forcing herself over onto her side. She heard shuffling as others moved around her, though no one laid a finger on her body.

Every time she told herself not to look, and every time she ignored her own warnings.

From her collarbone down to the middle of her breasts, the skin across her chest was red, warped, and blistered. Her carved seals were no longer visible, the lines and symbols lost to the twisting mass of raw, burnt flesh. Her head dipped as she caught the stench of burning meat, fighting back the wave of nausea, and dug her fingers into the floor for purchase.

Someone knelt down in front of her, reaching forward. Ash lashed out, batting them away.

“No! Don’t touch me! It’ll be fine. Just wait.”

In truth, Ash didn’t know what to expect. Never, in eight years, had the reaction been this bad. She had long since learned that the seals she’d been given were self-preserving. Any attempts to disturb them, to alter their intended use, were pointless. And she _had_ tried to modify them, to destroy or even to lessen their power with various and often harmful methods. Every single effort had proven futile. Even as she watched now, the outline of vague runic symbols beginning to re-emerge even as the skin around them continued to steam and blister.

“I can help,” offered a voice, the figure who had knelt down to inspect her.

“With more magic?” Ash demanded through clenched teeth, emboldened by fury and adrenaline. “Are you that stupid?”

Ash glared up but saw not one of the men who had accompanied her, not a man at all, but a woman in a white coat. She stared down at Ash, a calm but concerned expression on a pretty, oval face.

“No,” the woman continued, “with medical painkillers. Anesthetic. Lidocaine, to be specific. Do you have any allergies?”

Ash groaned, rolling onto her back. The woman, who given her manner and attire Ash assumed must have been a doctor, took this for compliance, and leaned forward. Ash barely registered the sensation of a needle.

“I should have a further look at this, before anything else,” said the doctor, continuing to dot the area with a series of well-placed shots. “You could still go into shock. And we need to think about infection. Magical wounds are still wounds, after all. Lie still, please.”

The pain died quickly, although it did not altogether disappear. The numb deadening of nerves was unsettling, but it was good enough for Ash to breathe deep and fill her lungs without feeling like her skin was going to split apart.

Clinging to the remnants of her t-shirt, Ash let the woman haul her shakily to her feet, then looked around. Bright dabs of light still bloomed in her vision, but she could make out most of the room around them. It looked to be some kind of reception area. There was a large curved desk and a dozen or so fabric-covered chairs, tubes of fluorescent overhead lighting. Another seal, identical at a quick glance to the one she’d seen back in the academy, was carved into the linoleum floor. Ash could tell with some certainty that they had indeed reached a hospital as Diavolo had promised - the combinative smell of pine cleaner, bleach, and potato soup was unmistakable.

“You’re lucky,” the doctor said, slipping a protective cap back onto the end of her needle. “That dose was on its way to Mr. Athrihan in ward four. Fortunately I passed by when I did. How do you feel? Can you walk?”

“Fine,” Ash croaked, then cleared her throat. Diavolo and Lucifer were watching her with similarly concerned expressions. “It’s _fine,_ ” she insisted, feeling awkward and exposed now that the pain had largely subsided. She pulled her coat tight around her, covering the scraps of her clothing, her burnt flesh.

“I had no idea,” Diavolo began slowly, his mouth ajar as words momentarily failed him. “I had no idea it would be so-”

“I said it’s fine,” snapped Ash, glaring down at the floor. There were others, she had noticed, orderlies and nurses lurking nearby, watching the scene unfold. They must have been demons, she thought, or at least magically-inclined humans, since none of them were running around or screaming in the wake of three people suddenly popping into existence right in the middle of the room.

Ash swallowed, then lifted her head to Diavolo, trying to draw herself up as best she could under his scrutiny. “Well? Nothing’s changed. I still want to see her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little later than I'd like, but next chapter is well under way!
> 
> Also, I know Ash went through the same teleportation at the end of chapter one. This isn't oversight, it'll be explained later.
> 
> I hope people are enjoying so far!


	4. Old Rocks and Older Flames

Diavolo leaned back in the padded office chair, and it groaned under his bulk.

“One too many of Barbatos’s cream teas?” Asked Lucifer, without looking over.

The Prince of the Devildom continued to lounge, but rolled his head to one side to take in his right hand demon. Lucifer stood by the bookcases, pretending to be engrossed in the spines of the medical texts and journals that filled the shelves.

“Are you implying that I’ve gained weight?”

“Not at all, though I believe your chair might have been.”

Diavolo frowned, flattening a hand against his stomach and sighing wearily. “Is my self esteem to bear the brunt of your bad mood, Lucifer? Better to lay our cards on the table, don’t you think?”

Lucifer said nothing, instead peering down into the paper cup of black coffee in his hand. An oily film had settled across its lukewarm surface, glinting hideously in the dim light. Scowling, he stepped over to a potted plant in the corner of the room, and tipped the remaining liquid into its soil.

“You’re going to kill it.” Diavolo warned, watching him.

“Better it than me.” Lucifer narrowed his eyes, crumpling the paper cup and tossing it carelessly into a nearby wastepaper basket.

They had appropriated an office from one of the senior doctors for privacy’s sake while they waited, though looking around Diavolo thought it more a museum of oddities than any recognisable place of work. Dozens of drawings and sketches, all depicting specific parts of the human anatomy, had been plastered haphazardly over the walls, pressed together and overlapping until barely an inch of the wallpaper underneath could be seen. Some were impressively old if their yellowing was anything to go by, although it seemed little care had been taken to preserve them. Curled and crumbling corners had been forced flat with pins, and more than a few bore scribblings; some kind of indecipherable handwriting.

Diavolo squinted, trying to make sense of the notes, but gave up after only a short attempt, letting his attention wander to the desk before him instead. As with the walls, it held a similar account of chaos. Loose documents bearing bright red CONFIDENTIAL warnings spilled out from manilla folders, interspersed by x-rays showing a selection of shattered rib cages, broken ankles, fractured wrists. Curious, Diavolo pored over a few, tilting his head this way and that in order to better make sense of the ghostly images, until he caught Lucifer’s look of disapproval, and hurriedly batted the pages together into a neat and private stack.

In one corner to his left, a golden armillary sphere in miniature caught his eye, and he leaned over to spin the outer layer with his finger, watching the rings circle and dance around the tiny little model of Earth at its core. By his feet, a stack of cardboard boxes overflowing with stones, geodes, crystals, spilled their contents to the floor. Labelled chunks of iron and tektite from various meteor impact craters. A select few were dated back thousands of years, and these were suspended behind protective plexiglass prisms, taking pride of place among the rest.

“A good thing we left Mammon at home,” said Diavolo, leaning forward to pick up an unlabelled chunk of rock the size of his fist and rotating it, inspecting it in his hand. “Some of this must be worth a fortune.”

“Possibly,” Lucifer mused, glancing across at him. “Equally possible you’re holding onto some ancient, petrified dung.”

Diavolo barked an uneasy laugh. “Do you think so?” he asked, looking suddenly skeptical and carefully setting the mysterious hunk of rock back down alongside the others. He wiped his hand against his leg.

“Perhaps your time would be better spent focusing on the problem at hand?” Lucifer suggested, in an all-too-pleasant voice that failed to bely his diminishing patience.

Diavolo paused, then his chair gave another long squeal of protest as he rose, and the prince braced himself for another biting comment. This time however, Lucifer chose to remain quiet, still feigning interest in the bookshelf. Diavolo crossed to him, pulling one of the titles at random. It was thick, bound in ancient black leather, and bore faded gilt writing too worn down to be legible. Inside were a series of drawings of humans undergoing medieval surgical practices. Most of the methods described would have been considered comical, if not tortuous, by modern standards.

He snapped it shut with a grimace, and a cloud of dust blew up from between the pages.

“And what problem would that be?” Diavolo asked, pinching his nose to suppress a sneeze as he returned the awful book to its spot on the shelf.

Diavolo figured it would have been impossible for anyone to work alongside someone for five thousand years and not gain a sense for how best to annoy them. Even if that someone were as terse and closely-guarded as Lucifer. Yet the prince did not curb his affected tone. The setup had been far too tempting, and it had been a tough night for him, too. He deserved a little reward.

Though admittedly, he perhaps took too much pleasure in ruffling Lucifer’s feathers than he ought.

He was quiet as he waited to see how Lucifer would respond. However, when his second merely hesitated, then heaved a heavy sigh, the prince looked up in surprise.

“Lucifer?”

“It has been a long night, and I am tired,” Lucifer said, slowly, and clearly taking great care over his words. “Let me remind you, we have _plans_ for this kind of contingency. All I ask is that you let me put them to work.”

Diavolo said nothing for a moment, just stared ahead at the rows upon rows of books, before letting out a heavy sigh of his own. Hefting a hand onto Lucifer’s shoulder - the same one he had been using to fondle the unknown substances on the desk, Lucifer noted with a disgusted wrinkling of his nose - the prince regarded his friend with a warm, if half-hearted smile.

“Thank you.”

Whatever Lucifer had been expecting, it had clearly not been this. Caught off guard, a single eyebrow raising in a moment of curious surprise.

“I-”, he began, faltering for only a second before finding himself. “Whatever for?”

Diavolo’s smile widened.

“For caring,” said the prince. “Far easier to go along in silence and see my plans fall apart later.”

Lucifer hesitated, then looked away and shook his head. “I simply fail to understand why you would choose to welcome this unnecessary risk. The program has enough problems as it is.”

“Which is why I have you,” Diavolo beamed, squeezing Lucifer’s shoulder tight and giving it a vigorous shake. “Who else could help me navigate all these pits but the most dedicated and organised demon in the entire Devildom?”

“Flattery,” scowled Lucifer, peeling back Diavolo’s fingers one by one. “Will neither change our situation or improve my mood.”

Diavolo gave another bark of laughter, but he lowered his hand all the same. Folding his arms, he looked down, nodding silently, suddenly pensive. Though his smile did not completely disappear.

“Alright, old friend,” he said. “So, let’s start with what stands out to you as the most problematic.”

“To begin with,” started Lucifer, without a second’s hesitation, clearly eager to finally be getting to business. “We have the matter of the consent form. It returned to us signed, yet it seems clear to me that she has no knowledge of such a thing.”

“Ah.” Diavolo frowned, reaching into his breast pocket and pulling free an envelope bearing a cracked red wax seal. The sigil of the Royal House could be pieced together from the two halves.

He did not bother to unfold it, having already gone over and studied its contents, both the wording and the signature at great length. Distantly, he was aware of the triumph he’d felt on its reception; the knowledge that he had taken a long-awaited step towards a goal that had seemed aeons in the making.

The letters of consent had been sent out and signed by each of the exchange students. This one had been the last to be dispatched, though it had returned in record time. Diavolo had seen this as a sign of excitement; of an eager approval and desire to form part of his exchange. After the disaster that had been their attempt at retrieval however, the prince had begun to retrace his steps, starting with the letter he currently held in his hand.

Lucifer, as was his custom, followed his lord’s line of thinking to the letter. For what was hardly the first time, Diavolo wondered if his face held a tell he was unaware of.

“It was signed by someone,” said Lucifer, “but clearly not her. It begs the question, therefore, _who?_ And perhaps more importantly, _to what end?_ ”

“You believe it was intercepted?” Diavolo asked.

Lucifer hummed, pausing thoughtfully. “I suppose it remains a possibility that we simply have the wrong person,” he said, though without any real conviction.

Diavolo was silent, thinking back. He had seen the recognition land when he had called her by _that name_ ; the one they had on file. No one responded to a case of mistaken identity with fear unless they were familiar with the identity they were being faced with. Otherwise, she would have asked, _‘who’s that?’_ , or simply corrected them, _‘that isn’t me’_.

But Diavolo had seen it, that flicker of truth in her eyes. He closed his own now, recalling the fear on her face when he had attempted an introduction, the hesitation to take his hand on the dais, the way she shrank back and withdrew into herself whenever he came close. She hated him, them. _Demons._ Perhaps Lucifer was right, perhaps it would be too ambitious to assuage her of such hatreds. They were old hates, after all. Deeply-woven into her blood.

_Then again,_ said a voice in his mind. _Who better to act as an advocate for his success than a former enemy?_

“Do you intend to bring it to her attention?” Lucifer asked, bringing Diavolo back to the room and the envelope in his hand.

He stared down at it for a moment longer, before returning it to his pocket. “No,” he said. “At least, not for now.”

If Lucifer disapproved, it went unvoiced. The silence that followed had just begun to stretch into discomfort when they were spared by a soft rap at the door behind them, and they turned in time to see the handle click softly open. A pair of large, dark eyes peered tentatively around the corner, before the door inched further open. A woman in a white coat, a crop of glossy, black hair that shone faintly blue in the dim light. The same doctor from the foyer, who they’d had the good fortune to encounter on their arrival, took a half-step into the room.

“My Lord,” she said, inclining her head. After a moment, Diavolo realised why she hesitated on the threshold.

“Please, Neth,” he said, standing back and gesturing her forward with a wide arm. “It’s your office, after all.”

She smiled graciously, bowing her head once more as she stepped inside and closed the door. Up close, Diavolo caught the telltale signs of fatigue in the doctor’s face, and noticed the way she seemed to sag under her own weight.

“Everything has been taken care of,” she said. “I took the liberty of showing your visitor to the patio. She looked as though she needed the air.”

“You let her out? Alone?” Lucifer asked, stepping forward to interject.

The doctor turned her heavy, doleful eyes on him. “You believe she will run at the first opportunity,” she said, flatly. “She won’t.”

Lucifer cocked an eyebrow, took a moment to study her face before answering in a decidedly cool tone. “I did not realise we were in the business of understanding the motives of utter strangers.”

Something tugged at the corner of the doctor’s lips. When she spoke, her words were laced with a certain unspoken _something_ that made Diavolo's toes curl.

“Understanding how people work is part of my job, _Lucifer._ ”

Silence followed. It was as though the air in the room had suddenly chilled; its occupants dropped into an icy plunge, and Diavolo wrestled against an involuntary shiver.

“And the patient?” He asked, in more of an attempt to steer their conversation back into safer waters than anything else.

What little mirth it had gleaned from Lucifer’s reaction fell from the doctor’s face, and her expression was suddenly steely.

“It’s a good thing she was brought here and not to some _human hospital_ ,” she said, not caring to mask the distaste in her voice. “I cannot confidently say she’d have made it without magical intervention.”

“Which is to say...?”

“She’ll survive. Though I won’t know for certain the extent of psychological damage until she wakes. I’ll send across my full report as soon as I’m able,” she broke off for a moment then, hesitating. “I tried to offer your visitor - her sister, I believe? - an examination of her own, but she swore to break whichever fingers I laid on her.”

Diavolo frowned, looking grave, though Neth seemed bemused at the recollection. “An interesting choice for the program,” she continued, pressing past them, moving naturally through her own space. She reached a filing cabinet, opening it to slip a file she carried inside, and take another out.

“Though, far be it for me to question your selection, my Lord.”

“Indeed,” said Lucifer, exchanging a glance with their prince. “Doubly so, considering the topic should hardly have crossed your desk.”

“I heard about it from Hortator Adhain at the equinox ball,” Neth replied, as she riffled through pages of patient notes. “Or rather, his wife let it slip after one too many drinks.”

“I see,” said Lucifer, his lips pressing into a pale, thin line. “And your conclusion as to her unsuitability is based on - what, exactly? Another split-second judgement made on account of your unparalleled abilities?”

Neth turned slowly, regarding Lucifer darkly through her lashes. It always struck Diavolo as distinctly _odd_ , watching someone go toe-to-toe with his second, so scarcely did it happen. Most tended to back down when standing in the line of Lucifer’s ire, cut and milenia-honed to a razor-sharp edge. Doctor Neth had the courage - or the audacity, dependant - to simply look a little _bored_ by the display.

For a moment, it looked as though the doctor had an explanation readied, but then bit it back behind her teeth at the last second. Then, instead of rising to the bait, she turned to Diavolo and lowered her head, politely.

“My apologies, my Lord. It was never my intention to presume to know your business better than yourself.”

Diavolo, who had been more than happy to slink away into the shadows for this exchange, reluctantly allowed himself to be drawn back into it.

“If you have concerns, I should hear them,” he said.

Once again, she looked thoughtful and chose not to reply straight away. Her lips pursed, as though running her words through her mind before committing to them.

“There is nothing more I can add, at this time,” she said, slowly. “As I say, an examination would reveal more. If she could be convinced to -”

Another rap at the door, this one loud and urgent. A young orderly entered without waiting for a reply, then gave a little yelp and shrank back at seeing Diavolo, and throwing himself forward into a deep bow. He broke out in a burble of apologies, more than half of which were lost since the target of his words had become his own knees, before muttering something about a disturbance on one of the wards.

Neth scowled, irritably, dismissing the orderly with a flick of her wrist and her word that she’d be along soon. He began to stumble backwards, awkwardly reversing back through the door without rising from the bow.

“Apologies. It seems I’m needed,” Neth said, leaning over her desk to make some hurried notes that resembled more an errectic scratch than any recognisable language. As Diavolo watched, the incomprehensible writing on the sketches around the room began to make sense.

“A disturbance?” He asked, concerned.

“Nothing to worry about,” she said, continuing to scrawl. “It happens all the time. Minor infractions. Confused patients waking up, not realising where they are and throwing a tantrum. Sometimes more, but not often.” She stepped back, took a moment to glance over her notes before dropping her pen, sans lid, carelessly back onto the desk. “Our head of security is away and the matron is sick. Such things funnel down to me in their wake, despite my best efforts to avoid them.”

She looked up at them. “We can continue this later, if you don’t mind the wait?”

Diavolo straightened, turning to Lucifer, who once again seemed to read his mind.

“I’m afraid we must be getting on. We still have much to be getting on with.”

Lucifer inclined his head. “On that we can agree.”

Diavolo nodded, some light returning to his face as he turned to take in the doctor one final time.

“Once again, my deepest thanks for your intervention, and for all your help. Could we trouble you for a little longer? Would you mind showing us through?”

Neth smiled, tired and tight. “Not at all, my lord. Not at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said fortnightly updates? Well, I'm a big poopy liar face.
> 
> I recently came across the term 'Merineum' to describe the awkward limbo between Xmas and NY, and that's now my favourite term for anything, ever. It's also the first time in months where my energy has overlapped with my free time and given me a decent shot at editing.
> 
> It's also much, much easier for me to write from an OC's POV than an established character. ~~If I fuck up an OC, no one can tell.~~ It just means these kinds of chapters take me longer to get to a point where I'm happy sharing them.


	5. A Fronte Praecipitium

The sun had risen in earnest by the time they came outside; a clear and pale blue sky stretched out overhead, throwing bright, morning light across the grounds. The mountain air was cool and fresh, and Diavolo filled his lungs; feeling the lingering film of dust and mortality that clung to him like a wet cloak leave his body on a deep exhale.

Doctor Neth left them by the door with a polite nod and a clipped goodbye, clearly eager to return to matters she deemed better suited to her time. Diavolo thanked her with a smile and pretended not to spy the cool glance she paid Lucifer in passing, or the subtle shifting tension in his second’s shoulders when she departed.

The patio they stood on was rectangular in shape; a narrow strip that ran the length of the building. Lounge chairs and low tables were set out at regular intervals, offering a view of the sprawling gardens and the valley beyond, though Diavolo thought it unlikely they saw much use in the current season. He glanced down the rows, left and right. The seats were all faced foward, he had a clear view of each from his current spot. They were empty.

He frowned, turned back, searched left and right a second time. Squinting and scrutinising each seat in turn.

They were _all_ empty.

Drawing up by his side, Lucifer hissed a curse and shot his prince a look that made no secret of his irritation. He turned on his heel, heading for the steps that led down into the gardens, but stopped when Diavolo caught him by the shoulder.

“Wait,” the prince said, looking out across the wide expanse of green before them. Long lawns of neat, clipped grass interspersed by winding gravel paths and beset by rows of tall conifer bushes lay before them; a veritable maze of secluded nooks for patients seeking a little privacy, all stretching downhill and giving way to wild fields and olive groves and rolling hills in the distance.

“A manual search will take far too long,” he explained.

Ignoring the look on Lucifer’s face, Diavolo relaxed his gaze, allowing his eyelids to droop as he began to draw magic forward to his command.

It came at once, just as readily as it would have in his own kingdom; an ever-faithful servant, unfettered by boundaries. There was no light, no shimmering orbs or radiance, just the swell of pressure beneath his fingers. He sent it forward with a wordless intent, scattering the power in a multitude of invisible tendrils, spreading and feeling and searching their way across the gardens, weaving their way along the paths and through boundaries, poking their way into those hidden corners that eluded them by sight.

It took but a moment before they began to resound. He caught the faint traces of life in the echoes his magic returned: there were moles beneath the lawns; rabbits, hiding in darkened warrens under the earth; birds in the trees nearby. He could even sense a lone mouse scurrying somewhere through the undergrowth. _No,_ he thought, concentrating. _Something bigger._ He widened his search, pushed forward, drawing and pouring more power into the effort. For a moment he caught something right on the edge of his search and grew hopeful, then his hopes dashed as he quickly recognised the vestige of a wolf in his farthest reaches.

This wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. Surely, she wouldn’t have run. Even if not for Doctor Neth’s reassurances, he had been certain -

“No luck?” Said Lucifer, not caring to disguise the complacency in his voice. “My, if only someone had managed to foresee this turn of events.”

“Lucifer, _please,_ ” said Diavolo, a furrow appearing between his brows. To his credit, Lucifer fell silent, though Diavolo could still feel smug energy rolling off the demon in waves.

There _was_ something else, Diavolo noted after a time. The faintest trace. Something, after consideration, he could only describe as a _disturbance._ It wasn’t life, wasn’t anything at all, really. It was some kind of gap; a tiny hole that seemed to at once both draw on and force back his attempts to focus in on it. He turned, shifting so that this strange point of distortion became the center of his efforts, then sensed rather than felt the flicker of pain reverberating back through the echo.

He relaxed his efforts at once, the spell faltering. Unspent magic filtered, unseen, back into the earth.

Diavolo lifted his gaze, saw with his own eyes where the disturbance had been. Left hand side of the garden, behind one of the tall hedgerows.

“This way,” he said, and started for the steps.

*****

Ash gripped the iron railing and blew out a long, ragged breath.

A seeking spell. Of course they had used a damned seeking spell. She glanced down at her chest, at fresh red welts appearing over scars that had yet to fully heal. It had caught her off guard, stung rather than hurt, the shock of it worse than anything. Even as she watched, her flesh began to warp and mend with inhuman efficiency that still managed to make her nauseous after all these years.

She heard the steady crunching of approaching footsteps on the gravel path and quickly pulled her coat close, wincing as the fabric scraped against her injured skin. A piercing groan broke the morning calm as worn, iron hinges were drawn reluctantly into use, and the gate behind her was pushed open. Another breath to steady herself, then she turned from the railing and the view of the valley beyond.

Since she couldn’t be sure which of them had actually cast the spell, she took a moment to glare at them both in turn.

“Was my earlier demonstration not enough or something?” She started, before they had a chance to speak. “You could have just called me.”

“And you,” said Lucifer, contempt clear in his expression. “Could have stayed put, as per your instruction.”

Her face twisted in an ugly grimace, made uglier when she forced herself to bite back her immediate response. The doctor had told her to wait, which is technically what Ash had done, only perhaps not in the precise spot intended. She’d told herself she needed to _move_ ; to walk around and clear her head, make some room for their impending talk, but she’d have been lying to say she didn’t take some amount of pleasure in this small act of defiance, petty and childish as it may have been.

Diavolo came to stand beside her, though mindful to keep a respectable distance, resting one of his own hands on the railing.

“How is your sister?” He asked.

There was a sincerity in his voice that made Ash falter. She’d been prepared for many things: questions, anger, derision. But not sympathy. Unbidden, the image of Kit’s white face came to her mind: eyes closed, a halo of silver-blonde hair spread out across her pillow. A plastic breathing tube in her nose. White bandages tinged pink with blood. The steady beep of a monitor. The stench of disinfectant and blood and fear.

Ash swallowed hard against the forming constriction in her throat, and pushed the image of her sister back into the recesses of her mind. Sealed it there. Just for the time being. She’d fall apart later, when their fates were better secured and most importantly, she was alone.

Doubtless that he’d already been updated on the situation, and that this question was little more than an attempt to put her at ease, she gave a terse _‘fine’_ as a reply, and offered nothing more.

He pressed on. “Were you able to speak with her?”

Again, Ash assumed his question redundant - Kit hadn’t regained consciousness since her arrival and no doubt Diavolo knew this all too well. It was an act, but for the sake of civility she forced herself to play along.

“No.”

“I see,” he said, quietly. “You should know that you have my sympathies, regardless of however little value you place on such things.”

Ash did not know how to reply to this, so she stayed silent. A beat passed before the prince cleared his throat.

“And yourself? After the teleportation, I imagine you must-”

She felt a twinge of pain as she drew her coat tighter, the fabric like sandpaper against her skin.

“It’s nothing I wasn’t expecting,” she said, shrugging. “I mean, I haven’t exactly travelled _inter-realm_ before, but, well…” She trailed off, glancing back over her shoulder, pretending to be caught up in some detail of the valley below.

During her wait, she’d spent a little time trying to figure out exactly where she was. She had seen the day turning with her own eyes, so assumed Diavolo hadn’t been lying when he said they were back in the human realm, but anything more specific than that in terms of location she had trouble pinning down.

They were surrounded by mountains in almost every direction. The hospital had been built into the low slopes of one such which rose up behind them, dwarfing them, looming down over the little building and its gardens like some enormous deity of rock and ice. The incline before her that rolled down further into the valley at the mountain’s feet was softer, long and lazily-curving hills and orchards that roamed on and on, unending. In the far distance, in the sliver of a gap between the slopes, shades of blue coalesced into a long, blurry line on the horizon and for a while Ash fancied it could be the ocean, but now looking, she figured it more likely just a lake.

Diavolo was watching her, she realised. She could feel his attention in her periphery, bearing down on her. Studying her. She swallowed, then regretted it, hoping he didn't notice the bob in the throat.

“Will you sit with me?” He asked, his hand waving to indicate to a little seating area nearby.

He was already in motion, his question not so much a request as an instruction. Ash followed him, her feet carrying her through half a dozen automatic steps before she was struck. Realisation and repulsion fell upon her at once, and she hung back, closing in behind one of the chairs instead and resting her hands across the backrest, taking faint solace in the feeling of having something physical and solid beneath her fingers.

Diavolo looked back at her, silent and questioning.

“I’d prefer to stand,” she said, a little awkwardly.

Diavolo shrugged and sat, stretching his arms wide across the back of the two-seater he’d taken up in. He bent a leg, resting an ankle over the opposite knee. He looked comfortable, completely at ease.

Ash felt an angry knot twist in her stomach.

“Well then,” he said, that all-too bright smile returning. “Where to begin?”

“The doctor,” Ash blurted out, before he could get a chance to say anything else. Another thing she’d been forced to consider during her wait was her approach, and she’d quickly come to the conclusion that if she were to be taken seriously, she must at least try to be assertive. Diavolo hadn’t been the only one patiently waiting for answers, after all.

“She says I ought to be thankful - that if it hadn’t been for you, for all this,” Ash gestured to the space around them, to the hospital and the implication that lay beyond. “That my sister wouldn’t have made it. The problem is, I can’t help but think that without you none of this would have happened.”

Diavolo studied her for a moment, then nodded. “That is true, to an extent.”

“That man,” said Ash, and the knot in her stomach began to swell and tighten as the image of a green-tinted head of hair and an odd butler’s uniform came to the forefront of her mind. “That man who came looking for me. He said he was under instruction. I think you sent him.”

“I did,” said Diavolo, plainly. “His name is Barbatos, and he is my most trusted servant. And whether you believe it or not, he has been beside himself with grief ever since the accident.”

“You mean the crash.” Ash tested, trying not to sound too uncertain. Some details of the evening still eluded her, and the blank space in her memory between driving through the streets of London and waking up in the Devildom had so far been patched over with guesswork.

“That’s correct. Barbatos was sent to find you; to extend to you an invitation. He claims he did just that, and I am inclined to believe him. The events as they followed were neither our intention, nor,” his eyes dipped to her chest, to where her seal lay hidden behind her coat. “Entirely our fault."

“We were under the impression that you would be eager to hear him out." he continued. "When you fled, he attempted to follow you using short-range teleportation. We believe your seals interrupted this somehow. Distorted his target. He landed in the middle of the road, you swerved to avoid him, and the rest - as they say - is history.

“Barbatos is a good servant, and a good demon - no, don’t scoff at that, please,” he frowned at her derisive snort. “You can assume the worst of me if you like, though I’d prefer it if you didn’t, but please do not look down on those who were simply tasked with carrying out my orders. Barbatos did exactly what I asked of him, and when the worst came to pass, it was his quick thinking that saved both your own life, and that of your sister.”

Ash said nothing, just turned away. She couldn’t stand to look at him. His calm manner was infuriating. He didn’t realise - _couldn’t realise_ \- just how much fear that simple meeting had instilled. Fear had to be known; it had to be _felt_ in order to be understood, and she doubted the demon before her had ever been given a reason to fear in his life.

The fact that she ought to somehow be thankful for their attempts to fix the problem of their own making was almost too much to bear.

“An invitation,” she repeated quietly, her jaw clenched. She was emboldened by her anger, resentful of how easily he brushed aside her fears, his inability to understand. “You sent a stranger, in the middle of the night, who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Kit should have hit him harder.”

Ash realised she was trembling. Adrenaline flooded her veins with every heartbeat. Diavolo’s smile had long vanished. She spared a glance at Lucifer, but found him standing off to one side, staring out across the valley and the distant blue horizon, his back to their conversation.

“Natasha, please,” said Diavolo. “Sit. You must be exhausted. Let us talk this through. I meant what I said earlier, this meeting has not played out the way I had intended.”

“It’s Ash,” she conceded, after a pause. She looked down at her hands, white with strain. “Just Ash. And you’re right. I am tired, so let’s just cut out the bullshit and get down to what this is going to cost me.”

Diavolo blinked up at her, lost. “Cost you?”

“Isn’t that what this is all about?” She hissed. “Saving me, _saving_ Kit. Now she’s lying in there, in a bed where I can’t move her, her recovery hanging on your word - on your good favour,” she spat, not even attempting to hide the disgust in her voice. “You sit there, smiling, pretending to be on my side. Why? Why bother with the act? Why bother pretending? You have your leverage - it’s not as though I can refuse you while she lies in there, surrounded by your - your - _people_.”

Diavolo said nothing, staring at her as his confused expression gave way to something darker, but Ash could no longer control the stream of words rushing from her mouth. It was though a dam inside her had finally burst, and she was all but powerless to bring herself back under control.

“I know what you want,” she continued, gripping the back of the chair until her fingers hurt. “But you’re too late. Around eight years too late, in fact. I know nothing. Nothing of my grandmother’s plans or schemes. I don’t even know where she is. You’d have been better off dealing with one of my aunts. At least their information would be up to date. Instead you thought you’d go for the low-hanging fruit, but unfortunately I have nothing for you. What’s with that look? Disappointed?” She gave a desperate, mirthless bark that was almost a sob. “And what happens now, now that it’s all out in the open? Now that you realise I have nothing you want, nothing to - to bargain with -”

She was forced into silence by a constriction in her throat. She clutched at her neck, as though to somehow ease the pressure, desperately trying to hold back tears that threatened to escape.

She would not cry, not here, not in front of them.

She flinched, stepping back when suddenly Diavolo rose to his feet. She braced herself for an attack that she knew she hadn’t a hope of resisting, but it never came. When the demon prince spoke, he was calm.

“Ash, please listen to me. I have no interest in your family, and your sister’s care here will remain entirely independent of whatever agreement we may come to.” He paused, then drew a tentative step closer. “Please imagine, just for a second, that the litany of warnings you’ve heard repeated for your entire life are simply false. I can’t speak for every demon, but you will come to no harm in my presence, neither do I wish to trick or mislead you into any ill-gotten deal. I want your cooperation, but more than anything I wish only for you to hear me out. Listen to me. Listen to what I have to say, to the opportunity I have in store for you. Then, you may decide whether or not you wish to believe me, whether or not you wish to participate.”

The tremble in her hands seemed to move through her arms, down her body until even the tips of her toes began to quake. Her legs felt weak, unresponsive. This time, when he offered her a chair, she took it, if for no other reason than feeling she might collapse otherwise. She sat down and clasped her hands together, hoping that her shaking would be attributed to the chill in the air.

“Lucifer,” said Diavolo, after retaking his own seat across from her. “Would you be so kind as to track us down something warm to drink. Ah - preferably not the coffee?”

When Lucifer didn’t reply, Ash turned to glance over at him. The pale demon was staring down at her strangely, through the moment she met his eye his study of her vanished. He brushed past the back of Diavolo’s chair, and disappeared beyond the hedgerows with another long creak of the gate that rang out and echoed into the silence around them.

“We can talk inside, if you would prefer?” Diavolo said after a moment, his attention back on Ash.

Ash shook her head, swallowing and clearing her throat several times before trusting herself to speak.

“I like the cold,” she admitted, feeling strange and a little foolish in light of her emotional display.

He hadn’t attacked her, she reminded herself. He could have hung her upside down by her ankles and shaken her until the brief snippets of information she did hold onto came tumbling out. And there were a few. Maybe he still intended to at some point, but Ash was beginning to feel as though outright violence was not Diavolo’s preferred method. Not that this made him any less dangerous, but what defence did she have against a demon prince with millennia of brokering deals beneath his belt? What other real option was there but to sit and listen to his play?

“You really don’t care about her?” She asked after a pause, still unable to believe this claim above all others. “But - why? Why not?” She scoffed, incredulous at the grin that was spreading over his face. “She _hates_ you.”

Diavolo laughed then, though quickly suppressed it on seeing her expression.

“I apologise.” He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. “While I am quite sure that while she would prefer to think of herself as such, Mona and her coven are hardly a priority of mine.” He paused a beat, thoughtful. “Would it offend you if I likened your grandmother to a particularly bothersome fly?”

“I suppose so. A little,” Ash said, bristling slightly. “I’ve spent years running from that fly. What does that make me?”

Diavolo tilted his head from side to side, mulling the metaphor over his in mind. “Perhaps it was not a perfect analogy. Picture this instead: Mona is a scorpion. She spends her days stinging those around her, bullying them into submission. She builds a reputation. No one crosses her, for fear that they’ll be her next victim. But one day, from out of the blue, a whale appears. Far out to sea where she can’t reach, and even if she could, he is too large to be consumed by fear of one little sting. He is too big, and she is insignificant, beneath even the effort of retaliation.

“Does that make more sense? Do you perhaps understand now why I laughed?”

Ash frowned. “I still don’t see who I am in that scenario.”

Diavolo shrugged, throwing his arms wide across the back of his chair. “Whatever you like, the scorpion strings regardless. The only way to avoid it is to get out of its way, or to grow so large that it ceases to be a threat.”

 _Or to befriend that something large,_ Ash almost said. Is that what he was implying? Protection by proxy?

“So what do you want from me then, if it’s not information you’re after?”

“That,” Diavolo said, leaning in towards her, his face suddenly brightening excitedly. “Is precisely what I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”

Lucifer returned with a tray of drinks. Some kind of bitter herbal tea that Ash didn’t recognise or particularly care for, but she was thankful for the warmth it provided all the same.

Diavolo brought the conversation back to RAD - the academy they’d visited back in the Devildom. He spoke in a strange, sort of automatic way, and Ash thought it sounded rehearsed, as though he had planned out what he’d wanted to say long in advance. She went along with it, hiding her incredulity, her skepticism, behind a polite mask, but when the subject veered into his hopes regarding a betterment of the relationship between the three realms, Ash couldn’t help but choke on her tea.

“Why?” She asked, when she’d recovered. “Why bother?”

Diavolo’s cup was half way to his mouth when he suddenly stopped. “I’m surprised, Ash. I’d have thought you of all people would have understood.”

When she stared back at him, flatly, he continued.

“Because I am tired of reactions like yours,” he smiled, a little sadly. “My people have a violent history - a violent propensity, if truth be told. We are indulgent, we take what we want. We struggle to abstain; to curb our impulses.”

Ash lowered her eyes, feeling an unpleasant chill creep up her neck at this sudden outpour of frank openness and the deeper implications. She didn’t want to know to which impulses he was referring.

“But the exact same could be said of humans,” he said, with a sigh. “Humans, who have held demons responsible for their own poor decisions and lack of control for centuries upon centuries. It has been years since I allowed my people to walk freely amongst your own, did you know that? And in all that time, has anything gotten any better? Have people turned _good_ in our absence? No, don’t mistake advances in civilization as a reflection on man’s improving nature; the selfish drives that helped your farthest ancestors establish dominance are the same that allow you to build cities and create monopolies in which the few thrive to this day. Demons may have faded into myth for most, but that has not curbed your own propensity for greed, or cruelty.”

“So why,” said Ash, feeling the knot in her stomach begin to form once more. “Why would you want anything to do with any of us, if we’re all so terrible?”

“I have already told you, Ash. I am tired. We are all tied by birth into circumstances beyond our control, and yet so many of us want to use this as an excuse to build up walls. I want to break them back down. I want to prove to all three realms the truth of demons; that we are not the villains we have been painted to be. We have value beyond playing the scapegoats of our universe, and that,” he said, with finality, “ _that_ is why I came looking for you, Ash.”

She stared at him, mouth ajar, a hundred questions all clamouring to be voiced first.

To her complete surprise, his serious nature suddenly vanished, and he sat back, laughing.

“My apologies,” he grinned, and Ash be damned if he didn’t look downright _bashful_. “I admit I can become a little heated when speaking of my future plans.”

“An understatement,” Lucifer added quietly, sipping his tea.

“So,” Ash stammered, trying to get her thoughts straight. “What, you want me to go around telling everyone what great guys you demons are? That can’t be your plan.”

“Not quite,” said Diavolo, beaming at her.

When he told her the next part, she laughed. She hadn’t meant to be cruel; she had thought he was joking.

“An exchange program? At a school? That’s your grand plan for breaking down centuries of prejudice?”

“It is but a small step,” Diavolo said, completely unperturbed by her reaction. Ash guessed that he must have received worse at some point. “Nevertheless, an important one.”

When he offered nothing more, she turned to Lucifer, but he too stared back at her with an expression of infuriating solemnity.

“Really?” She asked, turning open-mouthed from one to the other in turn.

Diavolo nodded. “Really.”

When they gave her nothing more, she slumped back in her seat, staring down at her knees as her mind tried to wrap itself around the bizarre nature of the plan.

Maybe, she thought, maybe, if she stretched the lengths of logic to their absolute maximum limit, she could make sense of it all. Education. Isn’t that where most understanding was formed? That, and a mutual exchange of cultures and ideas and opinions.

Even the most absurd, embarrassingly-odd ideas could have merit, given enough dedication and a little luck.

Slowly, she sat back up. “So all of this. The crash, Kit getting hurt, that damned _portal_ , it was all just, what - an attempt to invite me into some weird inter-realm boarding school?” She huffed in disbelief, not certain whether she should be relieved or seething with rage.

“And Mona has _nothing_ to do with any of this?”

Diavolo gave a shrug, drained the dregs of his tea. “No. In fact, for our second human exchange student - that being yourself - we specifically sought someone without magical talent to see how they would react in comparison to our first. It was difficult - we couldn’t simply pick anyone without any knowledge of the Devildom or the presence of magic and other realms. The sudden realisation could be enough to permanently damage a frail human psyche - ah, no offence,” he added, seeing the cloud forming over Ash’s brow.

“Locating people who straddled that line proved immensely difficult,” Lucifer added. “Most humans, once made aware of magic, attempt to bend it to their own will.”

“It wasn’t like I didn’t try,” Ash said on reflex, then immediately wished she hadn’t. She looked away.

Unanswered questions hung in the pregnant silence that followed, and she caught the demons exchanging a look in the edge of her vision, but neither party seemed willing to broach the subject a second time.

Diavolo cleared his throat. “Well, regardless, you remain a perfect candidate for our program. That is, if you’re interested?”

She almost said yes, practically giddy with the relief of knowing she wasn’t about to be turned into paste or tortured for information, but something caught her at the crucial moment and held her back. 

“And, for a moment, let’s pretend I’m not.” She spoke slowly, fixing Diavolo with a steady stare. “What happens in that scenario?”

“Then you walk away,” Diavolo said, simply. “I have no interest in starting my campaign by force. Your sister will be invited to stay here until she is fit to leave. After which, neither of you will ever hear from any of us again, this I promise you.”

She leaned forward, setting down her cup with trembling fingers, then rose without a word and walked back to the railing. She sucked in a long breath, then pressed her fingers into her eyes as she fought to concentrate.

This was all insane. Some kind of deranged fever dream, surely. Or perhaps the crash had left her with some kind of brain damage. It must be something, to even be considering such a - what had he called it? An exchange program.

She let out a bark of sullen, false laughter, not caring how it made her look.

Her mind raced; tearing through possibilities, each coming to a sudden, abrupt end. She couldn’t go home, that much was certain. Kit’s magic would have gone up like a flare in the dark for anyone who knew what to look for. It would only be a matter of time before someone came to investigate, and her seals wouldn’t be enough to throw them off the scent entirely. Their little flat would almost certainly be compromised, if it hadn’t been already. Maybe all of London.

Her fingers dug deeper, and she let out a low, tired, groan. She leaned forward, the railing pressing against her sternum. She felt dizzy. She was going to be sick.

Behind her she heard the scraping of metal chair legs against concrete, followed by footsteps. Diavolo said her name, cautiously. She held up a hand to keep him at bay. The last thing she needed was for them to have a close up view of her throwing up.

One stupid blast of magic was all it had taken. One stupid mistake, born of booze, and panic, and fear, and now everything was blowing in the fucking wind.

She straightened up when the worst of her nausea had subsided. “How long will this last?” She asked. “This exchange thing, I mean. How long are we talking?”

Diavolo hesitated. “We’re hoping to fully immerse our exchange students into many different aspects of Devildom culture. We wish for their experiences to be as complete and fulfilling as possible-”

“One year,” said Lucifer, from over in his chair. “The exchange was scheduled to have begun on the day the last student enters the program and will last until the same day, next year.”

Ash stared at him, checking his expression for signs of deceit, as though hopefully he were merely joking around, poking cruel fun at her situation. She found none.

A year? A _year?_ A full, twelve month, year!

She turned back to Diavolo, her mouth hanging open, stupidly. He smiled, and there was a pity there that Ash did not find agreeable.

“Perhaps,” he began, tentatively. “In light of recent events and your circumstances, you could consider this offer a lifeline of sorts-”

Ash snorted. Exhaustion making her bolder than she ought to be.

“Without your _invitation_ , I wouldn’t be in this mess at all.”

Diavolo had the grace to look contrite, even if Ash suspected it to be skin deep.

“I understand, though I would prefer not to talk in circles,” he said, firmly. “We have already discussed this once, and nothing can alter the current circumstances we both find ourselves in.” He paused, drew a breath, raked a hand through his hair. Ash caught the trace of fatigue around his eyes, and realised it had been a long night for him, too.

“What has happened, has happened. I am truly, deeply sorry for the trouble you have endured. But I hope - _I know_ \- that some good can still come from this unfortunate turn of events. Please, Ash. All I ask for, is a chance.”

 _No._ She thought. _No. Not a demon. Never a demon. They were liars, manipulators. Traitors._

A shiver ran through her, cold with realisation that the voice in her mind had taken on Mona’s tone. Was it good sense holding her back, or had Diavolo been right - did the indoctrination really still hold after all this time? A litany of warnings, as he had described it, but even he couldn’t appreciate just how invasive her grandmother's lessons had been. Even now, years later, they still stuck to her.

She was trapped either way. The one deciding factor - the only thing that mattered now - was Kit.

“I wish I could give you more time,” Diavolo’s words cut through her thoughts. “But our schedule is already in motion. The time to decide is now.”

“If I agree,” she said slowly, blinking and trying desperately to match his gaze and not falter. “I have some conditions.”

Behind her, Ash heard Lucifer click his tongue, as though she were already past the point of reason. Diavolo chose to ignore him.

“I’ll gladly hear them.”

“First, if anything happens with my sister, I have to hear about it. If she wakes up, if she wants to talk, hell - if she has a bad dream, I want to know. No keeping things from me.”

He studied her a moment, then nodded. “Inter-realm communication is an ongoing subject of research. In its current state, it won’t allow for conversations. Even written messages take time to come through.”

“To the best of your ability, then.” She insisted.

He nodded, and she took a moment to scrutinise his expression, searching for a flicker that might betray him. She found none. An exceptional liar then, or he was telling the truth.

“And the rest?” He prompted.

“I want someone to stay with her. Someone who can look after her.”

“I assure you,”said Lucifer, rising impatiently from his seat. “Those here will do a far better job at seeing to her recovery-”

“I’m not talking about her recovery,” Ash snapped back. “I’m talking about security.” She turned to Diavolo. “If somehow Mona finds out where she’s being held, she’ll bring the whole coven. Can you honestly say this place would be able to defend against that?”

Ash saw him falter, saw the calculation in his eye.

“You have someone in mind?”

Ash bit her lip hard. A chill that had nothing to do with the cold winter air settled in around her heart.

“One of my aunts,” she said quietly, feeling the swell of nausea begin again. “I’ll need some help making contact.”


End file.
